of  California 
n  Regional 
Y  Facility 


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"  Mdslova- started  up  " 

Photogravure.  —  From  Painting  by  L.  O.  Pasternak 


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ilUustratfli  inUirarg  iEiiittmi 


RESURRECTION 

VOLUMES  I  — II 

WHAT  IS  ART? 
THE  CHRISTIAN  TEACHING 

By 
COUNT  LEV   N.  TOLSTOY 


Translated  from  the  Original  Russian 
and  edited  by 

PROFESSOR  LEO  WIENER 


BOSTON 

COLONIAL  PRESS  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  ig04 
By  Dana  Estes  &  Company 


Entered  pt  Stationers'  Hall 


Colonial    Press  :     Electrotyped  and   Printed   by 
C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


^^hism^ 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

3 
Part  the  First 

Part  the  Second 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Maslova  started  up     (p.  46)       ....       Frontispiece 

The  Judges 32 

Mariettb  in  the  Box    • 440 


Moscow  Opera  House 260 

Siegfried  fighting  the  Dragon 269 


Vol.  11. 


RESURRECTION 

1899 

Parts   I.  and   II. 


RESURRECTION 


"  Then  came  Peter  to  him,  and  said,  Lord,  how  often  shall 
my  brother  sin  against  me,  and  I  forgive  him  ?  till  seven 
times  ? 

"Jesus  saith  unto  him,  I  say  not  unto  thee,  Until  seven 
times  :  but  Until  seventy  times  seven."    (Matt,  xviii.  21-22.) 

"  And  why  beh oldest  thou  the  mote  that  is  in  thy  brother's 
eye,  but  considerest  not  the  beam  that  is  in  thine  own  eye  ?  " 
(Matt.  vii.  3.) 

"He  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  let  hinl  first  cast  a 
stone  at  her."     (John  viii.  7.) 

"  The  disciple  is  not  above  his  master :  but  every  one  that 
is  perfect  shall  be  as  his  master."     (Luke  vi.  40.) 


PART    THE    FIRST 


No  matter  how  people,  congregating  in  one  small  spot 
to  the  number  of  several  hundred  thousand,  tried  to 
deform  the  earth  on  which  they  were  jostling ;  how  they 
paved  the  earth  with  stones,  that  nothing  might  grow 
upon  it ;  how  they  weeded  out  every  sprouting  blade  ;  how 
they  smoked  up  the  air  with  coal  and  naphtha ;  how  they 
lopped  the  trees  and  expelled  all  animals  and  birds ;  — 
spring  was  spring,  even  in  the  city.  The  sun  gave 
warmth ;  the  grass,  reviving,  grew  strong  and  lush  wher- 
ever it  had  not  been  scraped  away,  not  only  on  the 
greenswards  of  the  boulevards,  but  also  between  the  flag- 

3 


4  RESUKRECTION 

stones ;  and  the  birches,  the  poplars,  and  the  bird-cherries 
had  unfolded  their  viscid,  fragrant  leaves,  and  the  lindens 
had  swelled  their  bursting  buds ;  the  jackdaws,  the 
sparrows,  and  the  pigeons  were  cheerfully  building  their 
vernal  nests,  and  the  flies,  warmed  by  the  sun,  were 
buzzing  along  the  walls.  Happy  were  the  plants,  and  the 
birds,  and  the  insects,  and  the  children.      But  the  people 

—  the  big,  the  grown  people  —  did  not  stop  cheating  and 
tormenting  themselves  and  each  other.  People  regarded 
as  sacred  and  important  not  this  spring  morning,  nor  this 
beauty  of  God's  world,  given  to  all  creatures  to  enjoy, 

—  a  beauty  which  disposes  to  peace,  concord,  and  love,  — 
but  that  which  they  themselves  had  invented,  in  order  to 
rule  over  each  other. 

Thus,  in  the  office  of  the  provincial  prison,  what  they 
regarded  as  sacred  and  important  was  not  that  the  bhssful- 
ness  and  joy  of  spring  had  been  given  to  all  animals  and 
to  all  people,  but  that  on  the  previous  day  a  numbered 
document,  bearing  a  seal  and  a  superscription,  had  been 
received,  which  said  that  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
of  this,  the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  three  prisoners,  two 
women  and  one  man,  who  were  kept  in  the  prison  subject 
to  a  judicial  inquest,  should  be  brought  to  the  court-house. 
One  of  these  women,  being  the  most  important  criminal, 
was  to  be  delivered  separately. 

To  carry  out  this  instruction,  the  chief  warden  entered, 
at  eight  o'clock  of  the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  the  malo- 
dorous corridor  of  the  women's  department.  He  was 
followed  by  a  woman  with  a  care-worn  face  and  curling 
gray  hair,  wearing  a  jersey,  with  sleeves  bordered  by 
galloons,  and  girded  with  a  blue-edged  belt.  This  was 
the  matron. 

"Do  you  want  Maslova?"  she  asked,  going  up  with 
the  warden  of  the  day  to  one  of  the  cell  doors  which 
opened  into  the  corridor. 

The  warden,  rattling  his  keys,  turned  the  lock,  and  open- 


RESURRECTION  O 

ing  the  door  of  the  cell,  from  which  burst  forth  an  even 
greater  stench  than  there  was  in  the  corridor,  called  out : 

"  Maslova,  to  court ! "  and  again  closed  the  door,  while 
waiting  for  her  to  come. 

Even  in  the  prison  yard  there  was  the  brisk,  vivifying 
air  of  the  fields,  wafted  to  the  city  by  the  wind.  But  in 
the  corridor  there  was  a  distressing,  jail-fever  atmosphere, 
saturated  by  the  odour  of  excrements,  tar,  and  decay, 
which  immediately  cast  a  gloom  of  sadness  on  every  new- 
comer. The  same  feeling  was  now  experienced  by  the 
matron,  who  had  just  arrived  from  the  outside,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  she  was  accustomed  to  this  foul 
air.  The  moment  she  entered  the  corridor  she  was  over- 
come by  fatigue,  and  felt  sleepy. 

A  bustle,  caused  by  feminine  voices  and  by  the  steps 
of  bare  feet,  was  heard  within  the  cell. 

"  Livelier  there,  hurry  up,  Maslova,  I  say ! "  shouted 
the  chief  warden  through  the  door  of  the  cell. 

About  two  minutes  later,  a  short,  full-breasted  young 
woman,  in  a  gray  cloak,  thrown  over  a  white  vest  and  a 
white  skirt,  walked  briskly  out  of  the  door,  swiftly  turned 
around,  and  stopped  near  the  warden.  The  woman's  feet 
were  clad  in  linen  stockings,  and  over  them  she  wore  the 
prison  shoes ;  her  head  was  wrapped  in  a  white  kerchief, 
underneath  which,  apparently  with  design,  protruded  ring- 
lets of  curling  black  hair.  The  woman's  whole  counte- 
nance was  of  that  peculiar  whiteness  which  is  found  on 
the  faces  of  persons  who  have  passed  a  long  time  indoors, 
and  which  reminds  one  of  potato  sprouts  in  a  cellar.  Of 
the  same  colour  were  her  small,  broad  hands,  and  her 
white,  full  neck,  which  was  visible  from  behind  the  large 
collar  of  the  cloak.  In  this  countenance,  especially 
against  the  dull  pallor  of  the  face,  stood  out  strikingly  a 
pair  of  jet-black,  sparkling,  slightly  swollen,  but  very 
lively  eyes,  one  of  which  was  a  bit  awry.  She  carried 
herself  very  erect,  extending  her  swelling  bosom. 


6  RESURRECTION 

Upon  arriving  in  the  corridor,  she  threw  her  head  back 
a  little,  looked  the  warden  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  stood 
ready  to  execute  anything  that  might  be  demanded  of 
her.  The  warden  was  on  the  point  of  locking  the  door, 
when  from  it  emerged  the  pale,  austere,  wrinkled  face  of 
a  straight-haired  old  woman.  The  old  woman  began  to 
tell  Maslova  something  ;  but  the  warden  pressed  the  door 
against  her  head,  and  so  it  disappeared.  In  the  cell  a 
feminine  voice  burst  out  laughing.  Maslova  herself 
smiled,  and  turned  toward  the  barred  httle  window  of  the 
door.  The  old  woman  pressed  her  face  to  it,  and  said  in 
a  hoarse  voice : 

"  Above  all,  don't  say  a  superfluous  word ;  stick  to  the 
same  story,  and  let  that  be  the  end  of  it ! " 

"  That's  all  one,  it  can't  be  any  worse,"  said  Maslova, 
shaking  her  head. 

"  Of  course,  it's  one,  and  not  two,"  said  the  chief 
warden,  with  an  official  consciousness  of  his  wit.  "After 
me,  march !  " 

The  eye  of  the  old  woman,  visible  through  the  window, 
disappeared,  and  Maslova  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the 
corridor,  and  with  rapid,  mincing  steps  walked  behind 
the  chief  warden.  They  descended  the  stone  staircase, 
passed  by  the  men's  cells,  which  were  even  more  mal- 
odorous and  noisy  than  the  women's,  and  from  which 
they  were  everywhere  watched  by  eyes  at  the  loopholes 
in  the  doors :  they  entered  the  office,  where  two  soldiers 
of  the  guard,  with  their  guns,  were  waiting  for  them. 

The  clerk,  who  was  sitting  there,  handed  to  one  of  the 
soldiers  a  document,  wliich  was  saturated  by  tobacco 
smoke,  and,  pointing  to  the  prisoner,  said,  "  Take  her ! " 
The  soldier,  a  Nizhni-Novgorod  peasant,  with  a  red,  pock- 
marked face,  stuck  the  paper  into  the  rolled-up  sleeve  of 
his  overcoat,  and,  smiling,  winked  to  his  companion,  a 
broad-cheeked  Chuvash,  in  order  to  direct  his  attention 
to  the  prisoner.     The  soldiers,  with  the  prisoner  between 


RESURKECTION  7 

them,  descended  the  staircase,  and  walked  over  to  the 
main  entrance. 

A  small  gate  was  opened  in  the  door  of  the  main 
entrance,  and,  stepping  across  the  threshold  of  the  gate 
into  the  yard,  the  soldiers,  with  the  prisoner,  walked  out 
of  the  enclosure,  and  proceeded  through  the  city,  keeping 
in  the  middle  of  the  paved  streets. 

Cabmen,  shopkeepers,  cooks,  workmen,  and  officials, 
stopped  to  look  with  curiosity  at  the  prisoner ;  some 
shook  their  heads,  and  thought,  "This  is  what  a  bad 
behaviour,  not  such  as  ours,  leads  to."  Children  looked 
in  terror  at  the  murderess,  being  reassured  only  because 
she  was  accompanied  by  soldiers,  and  could  no  longer  do 
any  harm.  A  village  peasant,  who  had  sold  coal  and  had 
drunk  some  tea  in  the  tavern,  went  up  to  her,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  gave  her  a  kopek.  The  prisoner 
blushed,  bent  her  head,  and  muttered  something. 

Being  conscious  of  the  looks  which  were  directed 
toward  her,  she  imperceptibly,  without  turning  her  head, 
cast  side  glances  at  those  who  were  gazing  at  her,  and 
the  attention  which  she  attracted  cheered  her.  She  was 
also  cheered  by  the  vernal  air,  which  was  pure  in  com- 
parison with  that  in  the  jail ;  but  it  was  painful  for  her 
to  walk  on  the  cobblestones,  for  her  feet  were  now 
unaccustomed  to  walking,  and  were  clad  in  clumsy  prison 
shoes ;  and  so  she  looked  down  at  them,  and  tried  to  step 
as  lightly  as  possible.  As  she  passed  near  a  flour  shop, 
in  front  of  which  pigeons  waddled,  unmolested  by  any- 
body, she  almost  stepped  on  one :  the  pigeon  fluttered 
up,  and  flapping  its  wings,  flew  past  the  prisoner's  ear, 
fanning  the  air  against  her.  She  smiled,  and  drew  a  deep 
sigh,  as  she  recalled  her  situation. 


n. 

The  story  of  prisoner  Maslova's  life  was  nothing  out  of 
the  ordinary.  Maslova  was  the  daughter  of  an  unmarried 
manorial  servant-girl,  who  had  been  living  with  her 
mother  in  the  capacity  of  dairymaid,  on  the  estate  of 
two  maiden  sisters.  This  unmarried  woman  bore  a  child 
every  year ;  as  always  happens  in  the  country,  the  baby 
was  baptized,  but  afterward  the  mother  did  not  suckle 
the  undesired  child,  and  it  died  of  starvation. 

Thus  five  children  had  died.  They  had  all  been  bap- 
tized, then  they  were  not  fed,  and  died.  The  sixth, 
begotten  by  an  itinerant  gipsy,  was  a  girl,  and  her  fate 
would  have  been  the  same,  if  it  had  not  happened  that 
one  of  the  old  maids  had  gone  into  the  stable  to  upbraid 
the  milkers  on  account  of  the  cream,  which  smelled  of 
the  cows.  In  the  stable  lay  the  mother  with  her  pretty, 
healthy,  new-born  baby.  The  old  maid  upbraided  them 
on  account  of  the  cream  and  for  having  allowed  a  lying-in 
woman  in  the  stable,  and  was  about  to  leave,  when,  having 
espied  the  child,  she  took  pity  upon  her,  and  offered  to 
become  her  godmother.  She  had  her  baptized,  and, 
pitying  her  godchild,  gave  the  mother  milk  and  money, 
and  thus  the  girl  remained  alive.  The  old  maids  even 
called  her  the  "  saved  "  girl. 

The  child  was  three  years  old  when  her  mother  fell  ill 

and  died.     The  old  stable-woman,  her  grandmother,  was 

harassed  by  her  grandchild,  and  so  the  ladies  took  her  to 

the  house.     The  black-eyed  girl  grew  to  be  exceedingly 

vivacious  and  charming,  and  the  old  maids  took  dehght 

in  her. 

8 


RESURRECTION  9 

The  younger,  Sofya  Ivauovna,  who  had  had  the  child 
baptized,  was  the  kinder  of  the  two,  and  the  elder,  Marya 
Ivanovna,  was  the  more  austere.  Sofya  Ivanovna  dressed 
her,  taught  her  to  read,  and  wanted  to  educate  her.  Marya 
Ivanovna,  however,  said  that  she  ought  to  be  brought  up 
as  a  working  girl,  —  a  good  chambermaid,  —  and  conse- 
quently was  exacting,  and  punished  and  even  struck  her, 
when  not  in  a  good  humour.  Thus,  between  these  two 
influences,  the  girl  grew  up  to  be  partly  educated  and 
partly  a  chambermaid.  She  was  even  called  by  a  dimin- 
utive, expressive  neither  of  endearment,  nor  of  command, 
but  of  something  intermediate,  namely,  not  Katka  or  Ka- 
tenka,  but  Katyusha.  She  did  the  sewing,  tidied  up  the 
rooms,  cleaned  the  pictures  with  chalk,  cooked,  ground, 
served  the  coffee,  washed  the  small  linen,  and  often  sat 
with  the  ladies  and  read  to  them. 

Several  men  sued  for  her  hand,  but  she  did  not  wish  to 
marry,  feehng  that  a  life  with  those  working  people,  her 
suitors,  would  be  hard  for  her,  who  had  been  spoiled  by 
the  comforts  of  the  manor. 

Thus  she  hved  until  her  sixteenth  year.  She  had  just 
passed  her  sixteenth  birthday,  when  the  ladies  received  a 
visit  from  their  student-nephew,  a  rich  prince,  and  Kat- 
yusha, not  daring  to  acknowledge  the  fact  to  him  or  even 
to  herself,  fell  in  love  with  him.  Two  years  later,  this 
same  nephew  of  theirs  called  on  his  aunts,  on  his  way  to 
the  war,  and  passed  four  days  with  them ;  on  the  day 
preceding  his  departure,  he  seduced  Katyusha,  and  press- 
ing a  hundred-rouble  bill  into  her  hand,  he  left  her.  Five 
months  after  his  visit  she  knew  for  sure  that  she  was 
pregnant. 

After  that  she  grew  tired  of  everything,  and  thought  of 
nothing  else  but  of  a  means  for  freeing  herself  from  the 
shame  which  awaited  her  ;  she  not  only  began  to  serve 
the  ladies  reluctantly  and  badly,  but  once,  not  knowing 
herself  how  it  came  about,  her  patience  gave  way  :  she  said 


10  RESURRECTION 

some  rude  things  to  them,  which  she  herself  regretted 
later,  and  asked  for  her  dismissal. 

The  ladies,  who  had  been  very  much  dissatisfied  with 
her,  let  her  go.  She  then  accepted  the  position  of  cham- 
bermaid at  the  house  of  a  country  judge,  but  she  could 
stand  it  there  no  longer  than  three  months,  because  the 
judge,  a  man  fifty  years  of  age,  began  to  annoy  her ;  once, 
when  he  had  become  unusually  persistent  in  his  attentions, 
she  grew  excited,  called  him  a  fool  and  an  old  devil,  and 
dealt  him  such  a  blow  in  the  chest  that  he  fell  down. 
She  was  sent  away  for  her  rudeness.  It  was  useless  to 
take  another  place,  for  the  child  was  soon  to  be  born,  and 
so  she  went  to  live  with  a  widow,  who  was  a  country 
midwife  and  trafficked  in  liquor.  She  had  an  easy  child- 
birth, but  the  midwife,  who  had  dehvered  a  sick  woman 
in  the  village,  infected  Katyusha  with  puerperal  fever,  and 
the  child,  a  boy,  was  taken  to  the  foundling  house,  where, 
according  to  the  story  of  the  old  woman  who  had  carried 
him  there,  he  died  soon  after  his  arrival. 

When  Katyusha  took  up  her  residence  at  the  midwife's, 
she  had  in  all  127  roubles,  twenty-seven  of  which  she  had 
earned,  and  one  hundred  roubles  which  her  seducer  had 
given  her.  When  she  came  away  from  that  house,  all  she 
had  left  was  six  roubles.  She  did  not  know  how  to  take 
care  of  money,  and  spent  it  on  herself,  and  gave  it  away 
to  all  who  asked  for  some.  The  midwife  took  for  her 
two  months'  board  —  for  the  food  and  the  tea  —  forty 
roubles ;  twenty-five  roubles  went  for  despatching  the 
child ;  forty  roubles  the  midwife  borrowed  of  her  to  buy 
a  cow  with ;  and  twenty  roubles  were  spent  for  clothes 
and  for  presents,  so  that  there  was  no  money  left,  when 
Katyusha  got  well  again,  and  had  to  look  for  a  place. 
She  found  one  at  a  forester's. 

The  forester  was  a  married  man,  but,  just  hke  the  judge 
before  him,  he  began  the  very  first  day  to  annoy  Katyu- 
sha with  his  attentions.     He  was  hateful  to  her,  and  she 


RESURRECTION  11 

tried  to  evade  him.  But  he  was  more  experienced  and 
ciiuning  than  she;  above  all,  he  vsras  her  master,  who 
could  send  her  wherever  he  pleased,  and,  waiting  for  an 
opportune  moment,  he  conquered  her.  His  wife  found 
it  out,  and,  discovering  her  husband  alone  in  a  room  with 
Katyusha,  she  assaulted  her.  Katyusha  defended  her- 
self, and  a  fight  ensued,  in  consequence  of  which  she  was 
expelled  from  the  house,  without  getting  her  wages. 
Then  Katyusha  journeyed  to  the  city  and  stopped  with 
her  aunt.  Her  aunt's  husband  was  a  bookbinder,  who 
'  used  to  make  a  good  living,  but  now  had  lost  all  his 
customers,  and  was  given  to  drinking,  spending  every- 
thing that  came  into  his  hands.  Her  aunt  had  a  small 
laundry  establishment,  and  thus  supported  herself  with 
her  children  and  her  good-for-nothing  husband.  She 
offered  to  Maslova  a  place  in  her  laundry ;  but,  seeing 
the  hard  life  which  the  laundresses  at  her  aunt's  were 
leading,  Maslova  hesitated,  and  went  to  the  employment 
offices  to  look  for  a  place  as  a  domestic. 

She  found  such  a  place  with  a  lady  who  was  living 
with  her  two  sons,  students  at  the  gymnasium.  A  week 
after  entering  upon  her  service,  the  elder  boy,  with  sprout- 
ing moustaches,  a  gymnasiast  of  the  sixth  form,  quit 
working  and  gave  Maslova  no  rest,  importuning  her  with 
his  attentions.  The  mother  accused  Maslova  of  every- 
thing and  discharged  her. 

She  could  not  find  another  situation ;  but  it  so  hap- 
pened that  when  Maslova  once  went  to  an  employment 
office,  she  there  met  a  lady  with  rings  and  bracelets  on 
her  plump  bare  hands.  Having  learned  of  Maslova's 
search  for  a  place,  the  lady  gave  her  her  address,  and 
invited  her  to  her  house.  Maslova  went  there.  The 
lady  received  her  kindly,  treated  her  to  pastry  and  sweet 
wine,  and  sent  her  chambermaid  somewhere  with  a  note. 

In  the  evening  a  tall  man,  with  long  grayish  hair  and 
gray  beard,  entered  the  room;  the  old  man  at  once  sat 


12  RESURRECTION 

down  near  Maslova,  and  began,  with  gleaming  eyes,  and 
smiling,  to  survey,  her,  and  to  jest  with  her.  The  land- 
lady called  him  out  into  another  room,  and  Maslova 
heard  her  say  :  "  She  is  fresh,  straight  from  the  country  !  " 
Then  the  landlady  called  out  Maslova  and  told  her  that 
this  man  was  an  author,  who  had  much  money,  and  who 
would  not  be  stingy  with  it,  if  he  took  a  liking  to  her. 
She  pleased  the  author,  who  gave  her  twenty-five  roubles, 
promising  to  see  her  often.  The  money  was  soon  spent 
in  paying  her  aunt  for  board,  and  on  a  new  dress,  a  hat, 
and  ribbons.  A  few  days  later  the  author  sent  for  her 
again.  She  went.  He  again  gave  her  twenty-five  roubles, 
and  proposed  that  she  take  rooms  for  herself  somewhere. 

While  living  in  the  apartments  which  the  author  had 
rented  for  her,  Maslova  fell  in  love  with  a  merry  clerk, 
who  was  living  in  the  same  yard.  She  herself  told  the 
author  about  it,  and  took  up  other,  smaller  quarters. 
The  clerk,  who  had  promised  to  marry  her,  suddenly  left 
for  Nizhni-Novgorod,  without  saying  a  word  to  her,  with 
the  evident  intention  of  abandoning  her,  and  she  was  left 
alone.  She  wanted  to  keep  the  rooms  by  herself,  but 
was  not  permitted  to  do  so.  The  inspector  of  police  told 
her  that  she  could  continue  to  live  there  only  by  gettiug 
a  yellow  certificate  and  subjecting  herself  to  examination. 

So  she  went  back  to  her  aunt's.  Her  aunt,  seeing  her 
fashionable  dress,  her  mantle,  and  her  hat,  received  her 
respectfully,  and  did  not  dare  to  offer  her  a  laundress's 
place,  since  she  considered  her  as  having  risen  to  a  higher 
sphere  of  life.  For  Maslova  the  question  whether  she 
had  better  become  a  laundress  or  not,  no  longer  existed. 
She  now  looked  with  compassion  at  that  life  of  enforced 
labour,  down  in  the  basement,  which  the  pale  laundresses, 
with  their  lean  arms,  —  some  of  them  were  consumptive, 
—  were  leading,  washing  and  ironing  in  an  atmosphere  of 
thirty  degrees  E^aumur,  filled  with  steam  from  the  soap- 
suds, the  windows  remaining  open,  winter  and  summer,  — 


RESURRECTION  13 

and  she  shuddered  at  the  thought  that  she,  too,  might  he 
brought  to  such  a  Hfe.  Aud  just  at  this  time,  which  was 
exceedingly  hard  for  Maslova,  as  she  could  not  find  a 
single  protector,  she  was  approached  by  a  procuress,  who 
furnished  houses  of  prostitution  with  girls. 

Maslova  had  started  smoking  long  before,  and  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  drinking  during  the  end  of  her  con- 
nection with  the  clerk,  and  still  more  so  after  he  had 
abandoned  her.  Wine  attracted  her,  not  only  because  it 
tasted  good,  but  more  especially  because  it  made  her 
forget  all  the  heavy  experiences  in  the  past,  and  because 
it  gave  her  ease  and  confidence  in  her  own  worth,  which 
she  did  not  have  without  it.  Without  wine  she  always 
felt  sad  and  ashamed.  The  procuress  treated  her  aunt  to 
dainties,  and  having  given  wine  to  Maslova,  proposed 
that  she  should  enter  the  best  establishment  in  the  city, 
representing  to  her  all  the  advantages  and  privileges  of 
such  a  position. 

Maslova  had  the  choice :  either  the  humiliating  position 
of  a  servant,  where  there  would  certainly  be  persecution  on 
the  side  of  the  men,  and  secret,  temporary  adultery,  or  a 
secure  quiet,  legalized  condition,  aud  open,  legitimate,  and 
well-paid  constant  adultery,  —  aud  she  chose  the  latter. 
Besides,  she  thought  in  this  manner  to  be  able  to  avenge 
the  wrong  done  her  by  her  seducer,  the  clerk,  and  all 
other  people  who  had  treated  her  shamefully.  She  was 
also  enticed  by  the  words  of  the  procuress,  —  and  this 
was  one  of  the  causes  that  led  to  her  final  decision, — 
that  she  could  order  any  dresses  she  wished,  of  velvet,  of 
gauze,  of  silk,  or  ball-dresses  with  bare  shoulders  and 
arms.  And  when  Maslova  imagined  herself  in  a  bright- 
yellow  silk  garment,  with  black  velvet  trimmings, — 
d^collet^,  —  she  could  not  withstand  the  temptation,  and 
surrendered  her  passport.  On  that  same  evening  the  pro- 
curess called  a  cab  and  took  her  to  Kitaeva's  well-known 
establishment. 


14  RESURRECTION 

From  that  time  began  for  Maslova  that  life  of  chronic 
transgression  of  divine  and  human  laws,  which  is  led  by 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  thousands  of  women,  not  only 
by  permission,  but  under  the  protection  of  the  government 
caring  for  the  well-being  of  its  citizens  :  that  life  which  ends 
for  nine  out  of  every  ten  women  in  agonizing  disease,  pre- 
mature old  age,  and  death. 

In  the  morning  and  in  the  daytime  —  slumber  after  the 
orgies  of  the  night.  At  three  or  four  o'clock  —  a  tired 
waking  in  an  unclean  bed,  seltzer  to  counteract  the  effects 
of  immoderate  drinking,  coffee,  indolent  strolling  through 
the  rooms  in  dressing-gowns,  vests  or  cloaks,  looking  behind 
the  curtain  through  the  windows,  a  lazy  exchange  of  angry 
words ;  then  ablutions,  pomading,  perfuming  of  the  body 
and  the  hair,  the  trying  on  of  dresses,  quarrels  with  the 
landlady  on  account  of  these  garments,  surveying  oneself 
in  the  mirror,  painting  the  face,  dyeing  the  eyebrows,  eat- 
ing pastry  and  fat  food ;  then  putting  on  a  bright  silk  dress, 
which  exposed  the  body  ;  then  coming  out  into  a  bright, 
gaily  illuminated  parlour :  the  arrival  of  guests ;  music, 
dances,  sweetmeats,  wine,  smoking,  and  adultery  with 
youths,  half-grown  men,  half-children,  and  desperate  old 
men ;  with  bachelors,  married  men,  merchants,  clerks,  Ar- 
menians, Jews,  Tartars ;  with  men  who  were  rich,  poor, 
healthy,  sick,  drunk,  sober,  coarse,  tender ;  with  officers, 
private  citizens,  students,,  gymnasiasts,  —  of  all  condi- 
tions, ages  and  characters.  And  cries,  and  jokes,  and 
quarrels,  and  music,  and  tobacco  and  wine,  and  wine 
and  tobacco,  and  music,  from  evening  to  daybreak.  And 
only  in  the  morning  liberation  and  heavy  slumber.  And 
the  same  thing  every  day,  the  whole  week.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  —  a  drive  to  a  government  institution,  the  police 
station,  where  officers  in  government  service,  the  doctors, 
men  who  sometimes  seriously  and  austerely,  and  some- 
times with  playful  mirthfulness,  examined  these  women, 
annihilating   that  very  sense  of  shame  which  has  been 


RESURRECTION  15 

given  by  Nature  not  only  to  men,  but  also  to  animals,  in 
order  to  put  a  check  to  transgressions ;  then  they  handed 
them  a  patent  for  the  continuation  of  these  transgressions, 
of  which  they  and  their  partners  had  been  guilty  during 
the  past  week.  And  again  such  a  week.  And  thus  every 
day,  —  in  summer  and  winter,  on  week-days  and  on  holi- 
days. 

Maslova  had  passed  seven  years  in  this  manner.  Dur- 
ing that  time  she  had  changed  houses  twice,  and  had  been 
once  in  a  hospital.  In  the  seventh  year  of  her  sojourn 
in  a  house  of  prostitution,  and  in  the  eighth  since  her  first 
fall,  when  she  was  twenty-six  years  old,  there  had  hap- 
pened to  her  that  for  which  she  had  been  imprisoned,  and 
now  was  being  led  to  the  court-house,  after  six  months  in 
jail,  with  murderers  and  thievas. 


III. 

At  the  same  time  that  Maslova,  worn  out  by  the  long 
march,  reached,  with  the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  the  build- 
ing of  the  circuit  court,  that  very  nephew  of  her  educators, 
Prince  Dmitri  Ivanovich  Nekhlyudov,  who  had  seduced 
her,  was  lying  on  his  high,  crumpled  spring  bed,  with  its 
feather  mattress,  and,  unbuttoning  the  collar  of  his  clean 
linen  night-shirt,  with  its  ironed  gussets,  was  smoking  a 
cigarette.  He  was  gazing  in  front  of  him  with  his  motion- 
less eyes,  and  thinking  of  what  he  would  have  to  do  that 
day,  and  of  what  had  happened  the  day  before. 

As  he  recalled  the  previous  evening,  which  he  had 
passed  at  the  house  of  the  Korchagins,  rich  and  dis- 
tinguished people,  whose  daughter,  so  all  were  convinced,  he 
was  going  to  marry,  he  drew  a  sigh,  and,  throwing  away 
his  finished  cigarette,  was  on  the  point  of  taking  another 
out  of  his  silver  cigarette-holder ;  but  he  changed  his 
mind,  and,  letting  down  from  the  bed  his  smooth  white 
feet,  found  his  way  into  his  slippers ;  he  threw  over  his 
full  shoulders  a  silk  morning-gown,  and,  striding  rapidly 
and  heavily,  walked  into  the  adjoining  dressing-room, 
which  was  saturated  with  the  artificial  odours  of  elixirs, 
eau  de  Cologne,  pomatum,  and  perfumes.  There,  with  a 
special  powder,  he  cleaned  his  teeth,  which  were  filled  in 
many  places,  washed  them  with  fragrant  tooth-water,  and 
then  began  to  wash  his  body  all  over,  and  to  dry  himself 
with  all  kinds  of  towels.  He  washed  his  hands  with 
scented  soap,  carefully  cleaned  his  long  nails  with  a  brush, 
and  rinsed  his  face  and  fat  neck  in  the  large  marble  wash- 

16 


RESLTRKECTION  17 

stand ;  then  he  walked  into  a  third  room,  near  the  cham- 
ber, where  a  douche  was  waiting  for  him.  He  there 
washed  his  muscular,  plump,  white  body  with  cold  water, 
and  rubbed  himself  off  with  a  rough  sheet ;  then  he  put 
on  clean,  freshly  ironed  hnen,  and  his  shoes,  which  shone 
like  mirrors,  and  sat  down  in  front  of  the  toilet-table  to 
brush  his  short,  black,  curly  beard,  and  the  curling  hair 
on  his  head,  which  was  rather  scanty  in  front. 

All  the  things  which  he  used,  all  the  appurtenances  of 
his  toilet,  the  linen,  the  garments,  the  shoes,  the  ties,  the 
pins,  the  cuff-buttons,  —  were  of  the  best,  of  the  most  ex- 
pensive kind  ;  they  were  unobtrusive,  simple,  durable,  and 
costly. 

Having  selected  from  a  dozen  ties  and  pins  those  which 
he  happened  to  pick  up  first,  —  at  one  time,  it  had  been 
new  aud  amusing,  but  now  it  made  no  difference  to  him, 
—  Nekhlyiidov  put  on  his  well-brushed  clothes,  which 
were  lying  on  a  chair,  and,  clean  and  perfumed,  though 
not  feeling  very  fresh,  proceeded  to  the  long  dining-room, 
the  parquetry  of  which  had  been  waxed  on  the  previous 
day  by  three  peasants ;  here  stood  an  immense  oak  buffet, 
and  an  equally  large  extension  table,  which  had  a  certain 
solemn  appearance  on  account  of  its  broadly  outstretched 
carved  legs  in  the  shape  of  lion-claws.  On  this  table, 
covered  with  a  fine  starched  cloth  with  large  monograms, 
stood  a  silver  coffee-pot  with  fragrant  coffee,  a  sugar-bowl 
of  similar  design,  a  cream-pitcher  with  boiling  cream,  and 
a  bread-basket  with  fresh  rolls,  toast,  and  biscuits.  Near 
the  service  lay  the  last  mail,  the  papers,  and  a  new  num- 
ber of  the  Revue  de  Deux  Mondes. 

Nekhlyiidov  was  on  the  point  of  taking  up  his  letters, 
when  the  door  from  the  corridor  opened  and  a  plump, 
elderly  woman  in  mourning  and  with  a  lace  head-dress, 
which  covered  the  widened  parting  of  her  hair,  glided  into 
the  room.  This  was  Agraf(^ua  Petrovna,  the  chambermaid 
of  Nekhlyiidov's  mother,  who  had.  but  lately  died  in  this 


18  RESURRECTION 

very  house ;  she  was  now  staying  with  the  son  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  housekeeper. 

Agraf^na  Petrovna  had  at  various  times  been  abroad 
with  Nekhlyudov's  mother,  and  had  the  looks  and  manner 
of  a  lady.  She  had  lived  in  Nekhyludov's  house  since 
her  childhood,  and  had  known  Dmitri  Ivanovich  when  he 
was  a  boy  and  when  they  called  him  Mitenka. 

"  Good  morning,  Dmitri  Ivanovich." 

"  Good  morning,  Agraf^na  Petrovna.  What  is  the 
news  ? "   asked  Nekhlyudov,  jestingly. 

"  A  letter  from  the  princess,  or  from  her  daughter.  The 
chambermaid  brought  it  long  ago ;  she  is  waiting  in  my 
room,"  said  Agrafena  Petrovna,  handing  him  the  letter, 
and  smiling  significantly. 

"  Very  well,  in  a  minute,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  taking  the 
letter  and  frowning,  as  he  noticed  Agrafena  Petrovna's 
smile. 

Agrafena  Petrovna's  smile  meant  that  the  letter  was 
from  the  young  Princess  Korchagin,  whom,  according  to 
Agrafena  Petrovna's  opinion,  Nekhlyudov  was  going  to 
marry. 

"  Then  I  will  tell  her  to  wait,"  and  Agrafena  Petrovna, 
picking  up  the  crumb-brush,  which  was  out  of  place,  and 
putting  it  away,  glided  out  of  the  dining-room. 

Nekhlyudov  broke  the  seal  of  the  perfumed  letter, 
which  Agrafena  Petrovna  had  given  him,  and  began  to 
read : 

"  In  fulfilment  of  my  self-assumed  duty  to  act  as  your 
memory,"  so  ran  the  letter  on  a  sheet  of  thick  gray  paper 
with  uneven  margins,  in  a  sharp,  broad  hand,  "  I  remind 
you  that  to-day,  the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  you  are  to 
serve  on  a  jury,  and  consequently  can  by  no  means  drive 
out  with  Kolosov  and  us  to  look  at  the  pictures,  as  you 
yesterday,  with  your  characteristic  thoughtlessness,  prom- 
ised us  you  would ;  ct  moins  que  vous  ne  soyez  dispose  h 
payer  tt  la  cour  d' assises  les  300  roubles  d'amende  que  vous 


RESURRECTION  '  19 

refusez  pour  voti'c  cheval  -for  not  having  appeared  in 
time.  I  thought  of  it  yesterday,  the  moment  you  left. 
So  don't  forget  it. 

"Princess  M.  Korchagin." 

On  the  other  page  was  the  following  addition : 

"  Maman  vous  fait  dire  que  voire  convert  vous  attcndra 
jusqu'a  la  nuit.  Veiicz  absolument  a  quelle  heure  que 
cela  so  it. 


«M.  K." 


Nekhlyudov  frowned.  The  note  was  a  continuation  of 
that  artifice  which  the  young  Princess  Korchagiu  had 
been  practising  on  him  for  the  last  two  months,  and 
which  consisted  in  drawing  him  evermore  to  herself  by 
invisible  threads.  On  the  other  hand,  Nekhlyudov  had, 
in  addition  to  the  usual  indecision  before  marriage,  which 
all  people  have  who  are  past  their  first  youth  and  are  not 
passionately  in  love,  another  important  reason,  which  kept 
him  from  proposing  at  once,  even  if  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  do  so.  This  reason  was  not  that  he  had  ten 
years  before  seduced  and  abandoned  Katyusha,  —  this 
he  had  entirely  forgotten,  and  did  not  regard  as  an  im- 
pediment to  his  marriage ;  the  real  cause  was  that  at  that 
time  he  had  a  liaison  with  a  married  woman,  which, 
though  broken  by  him,  had  not  yet  been  acknowledged 
as  broken  by  her. 

Nekhlyudov  was  very  shy  with  women,  and  it  was 
this  very  timidity  which  had  provoked  a  desire  in  that 
married  woman  to  subdue  him.  She  was  the  wife  of  the 
marshal  of  the  nobility  of  the  county  whither  Nekhlyudov 
used  to  go  for  the  elections.  This  woman  had  drawn  him 
into  a  liaison,  which  from  day  to  day  became  more  bind- 
ing on  him  and  at  the  same  time  more  repulsive.  At 
first,   Nekhlyudov    could    not   withstand    her    seductive 


20  RESURRECTION 

charms ;  theu,  feeling  himself  guilty  toward  her,  he  was 
not  able  without  her  consent  to  tear  asunder  this  union. 
This  was  the  reason  why  Nekhlyildov  felt  that  he  had  no 
right  to  propose  to  Princess  Korchagin,  even  if  he  wished 
to  do  so. 

On  the  table  happened  to  lie  a  letter  from  that  woman's 
husband.  Upon  noticing  the  handwriting  and  postmark, 
Nekhlyiidov  blushed,  and  immediately  experienced  an 
onrush  of  energy,  which  always  came  over  him  at  the 
approach  of  danger.  But  his  agitation  was  vain :  her 
husband,  the  marshal  of  the  nobility  in  the  county  where 
the  more  important  estates  of  Nekhlyiidov  were  located, 
informed  him  that  at  the  end  of  May  there  would  be  an 
extra  session  of  the  County  Council,  and  asked  him  to  be 
sure  and  come  in  order  to  donner  un  coup  d'epaule  in 
the  important  questions  concerning  schools  and  roads 
which  were  to  be  brought  up  before  the  coming  meeting 
of  the  County  Council,  when  it  was  expected  that  the 
reactionary  party  would  put  up  a  strong  opposition. 

The  marshal  was  a  liberal,  and  with  several  party 
friends  was  engaged  in  struggling  against  the  reaction 
which  had  set  in  during  the  reign  of  Alexander  III. ;  he 
was  busily  occupied  with  this  struggle,  and  knew  nothing 
of  his  unfortunate  family  life. 

Nekhlyiidov  recalled  all  the  painful  minutes  which  he 
had  passed  in  the  presence  of  this  man :  he  recalled  how 
once  he  had  thouglit  that  her  husband  had  found  out 
everything,  and  how  he  had  prepared  himself  to  fight  a 
duel  at  which  he  had  intended  to  shoot  into  the  air ;  and 
he  recalled  that  terrible  scene  with  her,  when  in  despair 
she  had  rushed  out  into  the  garden  ready  to  drown 
herself  in  its  pond,  and  how  he  had  run  after  her  to 
find  her. 

"  I  cannot  go  there,  or  undertake  anything,  unless  I 
first  hear  from  her,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov.  The  week 
before  he  had  written  her  a  decisive  letter  in  which  he 


RESURRECTION  21 

had  confessed  his  guilt,  and  had  declared  himself  ready 
for  any  atonement ;  but,  nevertheless,  for  her  own  good, 
he  regarded  their  relations  as  for  ever  ended.  He  was 
expecting  an  answer  to  this  very  letter,  but  none  had  yet 
been  received.  The  delay  in  replying  he  considered  a 
good  sign.  If  she  had  not  agreed  to  the  disruption  of 
the  union,  she  would  have  written  him  long  ago,  or  would 
have  come  to  see  him,  as  she  had  done  on  previous  occa- 
sions. Nekhlyiidov  had  heard  that  there  was  a  certain 
officer  in  the  country,  who  was  paying  her  attentions,  and 
this  gave  him  a  twinge  of  jealousy,  and  at  the  same  time 
filled  him  with  hope  that  he  should  be  freed  from  the  he 
which  was  harassing  him. 

Another  letter  was  from  the  superintendent  of  his 
estates.  The  superintendent  wrote  Nekhlyiidov  that  he 
would  have  to  come  down  himseh,  in  order  to  be  con- 
firmed in  the  rights  of  inheritance,  and  besides,  to  decide 
the  question  of  how  the  estates  were  to  be  managed 
henceforth ;  whether  as  in  the  days  of  the  deceased  prin- 
cess, or,  as  he  had  proposed  to  the  defunct,  and  now  was 
again  proposing  to  the  young  prince,  by  increasing  the 
inventory  and  himself  working  the  land,  which  had  been 
parcelled  out  to  the  peasants.  The  superintendent  wrote 
that  such  an  exploitation  would  be  much  more  profitable. 
At  the  same  time  he  excused  himself  for  having  some- 
what delayed  the  transmission  of  the  three  thousand 
roubles  which,  by  order,  had  been  due  on  the  first.  The 
money  would  be  sent  by  the  next  post.  The  reason  for 
this  delay  was  that  he  had  been  absolutely  unable  to  col- 
lect from  the  peasants,  who  had  gone  so  far  in  their  dis- 
honesty that  it  became  necessary  to  invoke  the  authorities 
to  compel  them  to  pay  their  debts. 

This  letter  was  both  pleasant  and  unpleasant  to  Nekh- 
lyiidov. It  was  pleasant  for  him  to  feel  his  power 
over  his  extensive  possessions,  and  unpleasant,  because  in 
his  first  youth  he  had  been  an  enthusiastic  follower  of 


22  RESURRECTION 

Herbert  Spencer,  and,  being  himself  a  large  landed  propri- 
etor, had  been  particularly  struck  by  his  statement  in  his 
Social  Statics  that  justice  did  not  permit  the  private 
ownership  of  land.  With  the  directness  and  determina- 
tion of  youth  he  then  maintained  that  land  could  not 
form  the  object  of  private  ownership,  and  he  not  only 
wrote  a  thesis  on  the  subject  while  at  the  university,  but 
at  that  time  really  distributed  to  the  peasants  a  small 
part  of  the  land,  which  did  not  belong  to  his  mother,  but 
which  by  inheritance  from  his  father  belonged  to  him 
personally,  so  as  not  to  be  possessed  of  land,  contrary 
to  his  convictions.  Having  now  become  a  large  landed 
proprietor  by  inheritance,  he  had  to  do  one  of  the  two 
things :  either  to  renounce  his  possessions,  as  he  had  done 
ten  years  before  in  connection  with  the  two  hundred 
desyatinas  of  his  paternal  estate,  or  by  his  silent  consent 
to  acknowledge  all  his  former  ideas  faulty  and  false. 

He  could  not  do  the  former,  because  he  had  no  other 
means  of  subsistence  but  the  land.  He  did  not  wish  to 
serve  in  a  government  capacity,  and  in  the  meantime  had 
acquired  luxurious  habits  of  life,  from  which  he  consid- 
ered it  impossible  ever  to  depart.  Nor  was  there  any 
reason  why  he  should,  since  he  no  longer  had  that  force 
of  conviction,  nor  that  determination,  nor  that  ambition 
and  desire  to  surprise  people,  which  had  actuated  him  in 
his  youth.  Similarly  he  was  quite  incapable  of  doing 
the  latter,  —  to  recant  those  clear  and  undeniable  proofs 
of  the  illegality  of  private  ownership  of  land,  which  he 
had  then  found  in  Spencer's  Social  Statics,  and  the 
brilliant  confirmation  of  which  he  had  found  later,  much 
later,  in  the  works  of  Henry  George. 

For  this  reason  the  superintendent's  letter  did  not 
please  him. 


IV. 

Having  finished  his  coffee,  Nekhlyildov  went  into  his 
cabinet,  to  find  out  from  the  summons  at  what  time  he 
was  to  be  at  court,  and  to  write  the  princess  an  answer. 
The  cabinet  was  reached  through  the  studio.  Here  stood 
an  easel  with  a  covered,  unfinished  picture,  and  studies 
were  hanging  on  the  wall.  The  sight  of  this  picture,  on 
which  he  had  vainly  worked  for  two  years,  and  of  the 
studies,  and  of  the  whole  studio,  reminded  him  of  his 
feeling  of  impotence  to  advance  farther  in  painting,  a 
feeling  which  of  late  had  overcome  him  with  unusual 
force.  He  explained  to  himself  this  sensation  as  arising 
from  a  too  highly  developed  aesthetic  feeling,  but  still 
the  consciousness  of  it  was  exceedingly  disagreeable  to 
him. 

Seven  years  before,  he  had  given  up  his  government 
position,  having  decided  that  he  had  a  talent  for  painting, 
and  from  the  height  of  his  artistic  activity  he  looked 
down  somewhat  contemptuously  on  all  other  activities. 
Now  it  appeared  that  he  had  no  ground  for  such  an 
assumption,  and  thus  every  reminder  of  it  was  extremely 
distasteful  to  him.  He  looked  with  a  heavy  heart  at  all 
these  luxurious  arrangements  of  his  studio,  and  in  an 
unhappy  frame  of  mind  entered  his  cabinet.  The  cabinet 
was  a  very  large  and  high  room,  with  all  kinds  of  adorn- 
ments, appliances,  and  comforts. 

He  immediately  found  in  the  drawer  of  the  immense 
table,  under  the  division  of  memoranda,  the  summons, 
which  said  that  he  had  to  be  at  court  at  eleven  o'clock. 
He  sat  down  and  wrote  a  note  to  the  princess,  thanking 

23 


24  RESURRECTION 

her  for  the  invitation,  and  promising  to  come  to  dinner,  if 
he  could.  But  after  he  had  written  this  note,  he  tore  it 
up :  it  was  too  famihar  ;  he  wrote  another,  —  and  it  was 
cold,  almost  offensive.  He  again  tore  it  up,  and  pressed 
a  button  on  the  wall.  On  the  threshold  appeared  an 
elderly,  morose,  cleanly  shaven,  whiskered  lackey,  in  a 
gray  calico  apron. 

"  Please  send  for  a  cab." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  tell  her  —  there  is  somebody  here  from  the 
Korchagins  w^aiting  for  an  answer  —  tell  her  that  I  am 
much  obliged,  and  that  I  shall  try  to  be  there." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  is  impolite,  but  I  cannot  write.  I  shall  see  her 
to-day,  anyway,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  and  went  away  to 
dress  himself. 

When,  all  dressed,  he  appeared  on  the  porch,  his 
familiar  cab  with  the  rubber  tires  was  already  waiting 
for  him. 

"  Yesterday,  the  moment  you  had  left  Prince  Korcha- 
gin,"  said  the  cabman,  half  turning  around  his  powerful, 
sunburnt  neck,  in  a  white  shirt  collar,  "  I  came  back, 
but  the  porter  told  me,  '  He  has  just  left.' " 

"  Even  the  cabmen  know  of  my  relations  with  the 
Korchagins,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  and  the  unsolved 
question,  which  had  of  late  constantly  preoccupied  him, 
—  whether  he  should  marry  Princess  Korchagin  or  not,  — 
rose  before  him,  and,  as  happened  with  him  in  the 
majority  of  questions  which  presented  themselves  to  him 
at  that  time,  he  was  unable  to  solve  it  one  way  or  the 
other. 

In  favour  of  the  marriage  spoke  the  fact  that  marriage, 
in  addition  to  supplying  him  with  a  domestic  hearth, 
would  remove  the  irregularities  of  sexual  life,  and  would 
make  it  possible  for  him  to  lead  a  moral  existence ;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  and  this  was  most  important,  Nekh- 


RESURRECTION  25 

lyiidov  hoped  that  a  family  and  children  would  give  a 
meaning  to  his  empty  life.  So  much  for  marriage  in 
general.  Against  marriage  in  general  was,  in  the  first 
place,  the  fear  of  losing  his  liberty,  a  fear  which  is 
common  to  all  old  bachelors,  and  in  the  second,  an  un- 
conscious dread  before  the  mysterious  being  of  a  woman. 

In  favour  of  his  marrying  Missy  in  particular  (Princess 
Korchagin's  name  was  Mariya,  but,  as  in  all  families  of  a 
certain  circle,  she  was  nicknamed  Missy)  was,  in  the 
first  place,  her  breeding,  for  in  everything,  from  her  wear- 
ing-apparel to  her  manner  of  speaking,  walking,  and 
laughing,  she  stood  out  from  among  common  people,  not 
by  any  special  features,  but  by  her  general  "  decency,"  — 
he  could  not  think  of  any  other  expression  for  this 
quality,  which  he  esteemed  highly ;  and  in  the  second, 
because  she  respected  him  above  all  other  men,  conse- 
quently, according  to  his  conceptions,  she  understood 
him.  And  it  was  this  comprehension,  that  is,  the 
acknowledgment  of  his  high  worth,  which  testified  in 
Nekhlyudov's  opinion  to  her  good  mind  and  correct 
judgment. 

Against  his  marrying  Missy  in  particular  was,  first, 
that  it  was  quite  possible  that  he  should  find  a  girl  who 
would  possess  an  even  greater  number  of  desirable  qual- 
ities than  Missy  had,  and  who  consequently  would  be 
worthier  of  him ;  and,  secondly,  the  fact  that  she  was 
twenty-seven  years  old  and,  therefore,  must  have  been  in 
love  before,  —  and  this  thought  tormented  Nekhlyiidov. 
His  pride  could  not  make  peace  with  the  thought  that  at 
any  time,  even  though  it  be  in  the  past,  she  could  have 
loved  anybody  but  him.  Of  course,  she  could  not  have 
foreseen  that  she  would  meet  him,  but  the  very  idea  that 
she  could  have  been  in  love  with  some  one  else  offended 
him. 

Thus  there  were  as  many  arguments  in  favour  of 
marrying  as  against  it ;  at  least  these  two  classes  of  argu- 


26  KESURRECTION 

ments  were  equally  urgent,  and  Nekhlyudov,  laughing  at 
himself,  called  himself  "  Buridan's  ass."  And  he  remained 
one,  for  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  which  bundle 
to  turn. 

"  However,  since  I  have  received  no  answer  from  Mdrya 
Vasilevna  (the  marshal's  wife),  and  have  not  completely 
settled  that  affair,  I  cannot  begin  anything,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

The  consciousness  that  he  could  and  should  delay  his 
decision  was  agreeable  to  him. 

"  Still,  I  will  consider  all  this  later,"  he  said  to  himself 
when  his  vehicle  inaudibly  drove  over  the  asphalt  drive- 
way of  the  court-house. 

"  Now  I  must  act  conscientiously,  as  I  always  execute, 
and  always  should  execute  my  public  duties.  Besides, 
they  are  frequently  interesting,"  he  said  to  himself,  pass- 
ing by  the  doorkeeper,  into  the  vestibule  of  the  court- 
house. 


V. 

In  the  corridors  of  the  court-house  there  was  already 
animated  motion,  when  Nekhlyudov  entered  it. 

The  janitors  were  either  walking  rapidly,  or  even  run- 
ning, without  lifting  their  feet  from  the  floor,  but  shuffling 
them,  and  out  of  breath,  carrying  orders  and  documents 
up  and  down.  The  bailiffs,  the  lawyers,  and  the  judges 
passed  from  one  place  to  another,  while  the  plaintiffs  and 
the  defendants  who  were  not  under  surveillance  morosely 
walked  up  and  down  near  the  walls,  or  were  sitting,  wait- 
ing for  their  turns. 

"  "WTiere  is  the  circuit  court  ? "  Nekhlyudov  asked  one 
of  the  janitors. 

"  Which  ?  There  is  a  civil  division,  there  is  a  supreme 
court." 

"  I  am  a  juryman." 

"  Criminal  division.  You  ought  to  have  said  so.  Here, 
to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  second  door." 

Nekhlyudov  followed  his  directions. 

At  the  door  indicated  two  men  stood  waiting  for  some- 
thing. The  one  was  a  tall,  fat  merchant,  a  good-hearted 
man,  who  had  evidently  had  something  to  drink  and  to 
eat,  and  was  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind ;  the  other  was  a 
clerk,  of  Jewish  extraction.  They  were  talking  about  the 
price  of  wool,  when  Nekhlyudov  walked  over  to  them  and 
asked  them  whether  this  was  the  jury-room. 

"  Here,  sir,  here.  Are  you  one  of  our  kin,  a  jury- 
man ? "  the  merchant  asked  good-naturedly,  winking 
merrily. 

"  Well,  we  shall  aU  work  together,"  he  continued,  upon 

27 


28  RESURRECTION 

Nekhlyudov's  affirmative  answer.  "  Baklash6v,  of  the 
second  guild,"  he  said,  extending  his  soft,  broad,  open 
hand.  "  We  shall  have  to  work.  With  whom  have  I 
the  honour  ? " 

Nekhlyiidov  mentioned  his  name,  and  went  into  the 
jury-room. 

In  the  room  there  were  some  ten  men  of  all  descrip- 
tions. They  had  all  just  arrived,  and  some  were  seated, 
while  others  walked  about,  eyeing  one  another  and  getting 
acquainted.  There  was  an  ex-officer  in  his  uniform ;  the 
others  wore  long  or  short  coats,  and  one  was  clad  in  a 
sleeveless  peasant  coat. 

Though  many  of  those  present  had  been  taken  away 
from  their  work,  and  complained  that  this  was  a  tiresome 
affair,  they  all  bore  the  imprint  of  a  certain  pleasure,  as 
though  they  were  conscious  of  performing  an  important 
public  duty. 

The  jurors,  having  become  acquainted  with  each  other, 
or  merely  guessing  who  was  who,  were  talking  about  the 
weather,  about  the  early  spring,  and  about  the  work  before 
them.  Those  who  did  not  know  Nekhlyiidov  hastened 
to  become  acquainted  with  him,  obviously  regarding  this 
as  a  special  honour.  Nekhlyiidov  received  their  advances 
as  something  due  him,  as  he  always  did  when  among 
strangers.  If  he  had  been  asked  why  he  regarded  him- 
self higher  than  the  majority  of  mankind,  he  would  not 
have  been  able  to  answer  the  question,  because  no  part  of 
his  life  was  distinguished  for  any  particular  qualities.  The 
fact  that  he  spoke  English,  French,  and  German  correctly, 
and  that  his  linen,  his  attire,  his  ties,  and  his  cuff-buttons 
came  from  the  first  purveyors  of  these  articles,  could  not 
have  served  at  all,  so  he  knew  himself,  as  a  reason  for 
supposing  any  superiority  in  himself.  And  yet,  he  un- 
questioningly  assumed  this  superiority,  and  received  the 
expressions  of  respect  as  something  due  him,  and  felt 
offended  whenever  they  were  not  forthcoming.      In  the 


RESURRECTION  29 

jurors'  room  he  had  occasion  to  experience  the  disagree- 
able sensation  arising  from  an  expression  of  disrespect. 
Among  the  jurymen  was  an  acquaintance  of  Nekhlyu- 
dov's.  This  was  Peter  Gerasimovich  (Nekhlyiidov  never 
had  known  his  family  name,  and  even  boasted  of  this 
fact),  who  had  formerly  been  a  teacher  of  his  sister's 
children.  This  Peter  Gerasimovich  had  finished  his  course 
at  the  university,  and  now  was  a  teacher  at  a  gymnasium. 
Nekhlyudov  never  could  bear  him  on  account  of  his 
familiarity,  and  his  self-satisfied  laughter,  —  in  general,  on 
account  of  his  "  vulgarity,"  as  Nekhlyudov's  sister  used 
to  express  herself. 

"  Ah,  you  are  caught,  too,"  Peter  Gerasimovich  met 
Nekhlyiidov,  with  a  guffaw.  "  You  could  not  tear  your- 
self away  ? " 

"  I  did  not  even  have  any  intention  of  tearing  myself 
away,"  Nekhlyudov  said,  austerely  and  gloomily. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  citizen's  virtue.  Just  wait,  when  you 
get  hungry,  and  don't  have  any  sleep,  you  will  sing  a 
different  song  ! "  Peter  Gerasimovich  shouted,  laughing 
louder  still. 

"  This  protopope's  son  will  soon  be  saying  '  thou '  to 
me,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  and  with  a  face  expressive  of 
a  sadness  which  would  have  been  natural  only  if  he  had 
suddenly  received  the  news  of  the  death  of  all  his  rela- 
tives, he  went  away  from  him,  and  joined  the  group  which 
had  formed  itself  around  a  tall,  cleanly  shaven,  stately 
gentleman,  who  was  relating  something  with  animation. 
The  gentleman  was  telling  of  the  law^suit  which  was 
being  tried  in  the  civil  department,  as  of  an  affair  which 
he  well  knew ;  he  called  all  the  judges  and  famous  law- 
yers by  their  Christian  names  and  patronymics.  He  was 
expatiating  on  the  wonderful  turn  which  a  famous  lawyer 
had  given  to  it,  so  that  one  of  the  contesting  parties,  an 
old  lady,  though  entirely  in  the  right,  would  have  to  pay 
an  immense  sum  to  the  other  party. 


30  EESURRECTION 

"  A  brilliant  lawyer  ! "  he  said. 

He  was  listened  to  with  respect,  and  some  tried  to  put 
in  a  word  of  their  own,  but  he  interrupted  them  all,  as 
though  he  were  the  only  one  who  could  know  anything 
properly. 

Although  Nekhlyiidov  had  arrived  late,  he  had  to  wait 
for  a  long  time.  The  case  was  delayed  by  one  of  the 
members  of  the  court,  who  had  not  yet  arrived. 


VI. 

The  presiding  judge  had  come  early.  He  was  a  tall, 
stout  man,  with  long,  grayish  side-whiskers.  He  was 
married,  but  led  a  very  dissolute  life,  and  so  did  his  wife. 
They  did  not  interfere  with  each  other.  On  that  morning 
he  had  received  a  note  from  the  Swiss  governess,  who  lived 
in  their  house  in  the  summer  and  now  was  on  her  way  to 
St.  Petersburg,  that  she  would  wait  for  him  in  town,  in 
"  Hotel  Italy,"  between  three  and  six  o'clock.  And  so  he 
was  anxious  to  begin  and  end  the  sitting  of  the  court  as 
early  as  possible,  in  order  to  get-  a  chance  of  visiting  this 
red-haired  Klara  Vasilevna,  with  whom  he  had  begun  a 
love-affair  the  summer  before,  in  the  country. 

Upon  entering  the  cabinet,  he  bolted  the  door,  took  out 
a  pair  of  dumb-bells  from  the  lowest  shelf  of  the  safe  with 
the  documents,  and  twenty  times  moved  them  up,  for- 
ward, sidewise,  and  downward,  and  then  three  times 
squatted  lightly,  holding  the  dumb-bells  above  his  head. 

"  Nothing  keeps  up  a  man's  physique  so  well  as  water 
and  gymnastic  exercises,"  he  thought,  feeling  with  his  left 
hand,  with  a  gold  ring  on  its  ring-finger,  the  swelling 
biceps  of  his  right  arm.  He  had  still  to  make  two  wind- 
mill motions,  which  he  always  practised  before  a  long 
session,  when  the  door  was  shaken.  Somebody  was  try- 
ing to  come  in.  The  presiding  judge  immediately  put  the 
dumb-bells  away,  and  opened  the  door, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said. 

Into  the  room  stepped  one  of  the  members  of  the  court, 
in  gold  spectacles ;  he  was  short,  with  raised  shoulders 
and  frowning  face. 

31 


32  RESURRECTION 

"  Matvy^y  Nikitich  is  again  absent,"  said  the  member 
with  displeasure. 

"  He  is  not  yet  here,"  replied  the  presiding  judge, 
donning  his  uniform.     "  He  is  eternally  late." 

"  I  wonder  he  is  not  ashamed  of  himself,"  said  the 
member,  and  angrily  sat  down  and  took  the  cigarettes 
out  of  his  pocket. 

This  member,  who  was  a  very  precise  man,  had  had  an 
unpleasant  encounter  with  his  wife  on  that  morning, 
because  she  had  spent  the  money  which  was  to  have  lasted 
her  a  whole  month.  She  had  asked  for  some  more  in 
advance,  but  he  insisted  that  he  would  not  depart  from 
his  rules.  A  scene  ensued.  His  wife  said  that  if  he 
insisted  upon  this,  there  would  be  no  dmner,  —  and  that 
he  had  better  not  expect  any.  Thereupon  he  left,  fearing 
that  she  would  keep  her  word,  for  she  was  capable  of 
anything.  "  So  this  is  what  you  get  for  living  a  good, 
moral  life,"  he  thought,  looking  at  the  shining,  healthy, 
gay,  and  good-hearted  presiding  judge,  who,  spreading 
wide  his  elbows,  was  with  his  beautiful  white  hands 
clawing  his  thick  and  long  grayish  side-whiskers  on  both 
sides  of  his  embroidered  collar.  "  He  is  always  happy 
and  content,  and  I  suffer." 

The  secretary  entered,  bringing  some  papers. 

"  Very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  presiding 
judge,  lighting  a  cigar.  "  Which  case  shall  we  launch 
first  ? " 

"  I  suppose  the  poisoning  case,"  the  secretary  said, 
apparently  with  indifference. 

"  Very  well,  let  it  be  the  poisoning  case,"  said  the 
presiding  judge,  reflecting  that  it  was  a  case  that  might 
be  ended  by  four  o'clock,  whereupon  he  could  leave. 
"  Has  Matvy^y  Nikitich  not  yet  come  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  And  is  Br^ve  here  ? " 

"  He  is,"  answered  the  secretary. 


RESUERECTION  33 

"  Tell  him,  then,  if  you  see  him,  that  we  shall  begin 
with  the  poisoning  case." 

Br^ve  was  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney  who  was 
to  prosecute  at  the  present  sitting. 

Upon  reaching  the  corridor,  the  secretary  met  Breve. 
Eaising  liigh  his  shoulders,  he  was  almost  running  along 
the  corridor ;  his  uniform  was  unbuttoned,  and  he  carried 
his  portfolio  under  one  arm ;  he  continually  struck  his 
heels  together,  and  swung  his  free  arm  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  palm  of  his  hand  was  perpendicular  to  the 
direction  of  his  walk. 

"  Mikhail  Petrovich  wants  to  know  whether  you  are 
ready  ? "  the  secretary  asked  him. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  the  assistant  prosecuting  attor- 
ney.    "  Which  case  comes  first  ? " 

"  The  poisoning  case." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney ; 
but  he  did  not  think  it  well  at  all,  for  he  had  not  slept 
the  whole  night.  There  had  been  a  farewell  party,  where 
they  had  drunk  and  played  cards  until  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning ;  then  they  all  called  on  the  women  in  the  very 
house  where  Maslova  had  been  six  months  ago,  so  that 
he  had  not  had  any  time  whatsoever  to  read  up  the  brief ; 
he  hoped  to  be  able  to  do  so  now.  The  secretary,  who 
knew  that  he  had  not  yet  read  up  the  poisoning  case,  had 
purposely  advised  the  presiding  judge  to  start  with  it. 
The  secretary  was  a  man  of  liberal,  nay,  even  radical 
views.  Br^ve,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  conservative,  and, 
like  all  Germans  in  Eussian  service,  a  devout  Greek- 
Cathohc ;  the  secretary  did  not  like  him,  and  envied  him 
his  place. 

"  Well,  how  about  the  Castrate  Sectarians  ? "  asked  the 
secretary. 

"I  said,  I  could  not,"  said  the  assistant  prosecuting 
attorney.  "  For  want  of  witnesses,  —  I  shall  so  report  to 
the  court." 


34  RESURRECTION 

«  But,  all  the  same  —  " 

"  I  cannot,"  said  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney, 
and,  swaying  his  arm  as  before,  entered  his  cabinet. 

He  delayed  the  case  of  the  sectarians  on  account  of  the 
absence  of  an  unimportant  witness,  who  was  not  at  all 
needed,  and  his  reason  for  doing  this  was  just  because  the 
case  was  to  be  heard  in  a  court  where  the  jury  were  an 
intelligent  set,  and  where  it  might  easily  end  in  their 
favour.  By  agreement  with  the  presiding  judge,  this  case 
was  to  be  transferred  to  the  session  in  a  county  seat, 
where  there  would  be  more  peasants  on  the  jury,  and  a 
better  chance  to  end  the  case  unfavourably  for  the 
sectarians. 

The  crowd  in  the  corridor  was  getting  more  animated. 
Most  people  were  gathered  near  the  hall  of  the  civil  divi- 
sion, where  the  case  was  being  tried,  of  which  the  stately 
gentleman,  the  lover  of  lawsuits,  had  been  telling  the 
jurors.  During  an  intermission,  from  the  hall  emerged 
the  same  old  woman  from  whom  the  brilliant  lawyer  had 
succeeded  in  wrenching  away  her  whole  property  in 
favour  of  a  pettifogger,  who  did  not  have  the  slightest 
right  to  it.  The  judges  knew  that,  and  the  plaintiff  and 
his  attorney  knew  it  even  better ;  but  the  Ctse  had  been 
conducted  in  such  a  manner  that  there  was  no  other  issue 
possible  but  that  the  property  should  be  taken  away  from 
the  old  woman,  and  given  over  to  the  pettifogger.  The 
old  woman  was  a  stout  lady  in  her  holiday  clothes,  and 
with  enormous  flowers  on  her  hat.  Upon  coming  out  of 
the  door,  she  stopped  in  the  corridor,  and,  swaying  her 
plump  short  arms,  kept  repeating,  as  she  turned  to  her 
lawyer  :  "  How  will  that  be  ?  I  beg  you.  How  will  that 
be  ? "  The  lawyer  was  looking  at  the  flowers  on  her 
hat,  and,  without  hstening  to  her,  was  considering  some- 
thing. 

Immediately  after  the  old  woman,  there  hurried  out  of 
the  hall  of  the  civil  division,  resplendent  in  his  wide-open 


RESURRECTION .  35 

vest,  that  same  famous  attorney,  who  had  fixed  matters 
in  such  a  way  that  the  old  woman  with  the  flowers  was 
left  penniless,  while  the  pettifogger,  who  gave  him  a  fee 
of  ten  thousand  roubles,  received  more  than  one  hundred 
thousand  roubles.  All  eyes  were  directed  upon  the 
lawyer,  and  he  was  conscious  of  it,  so  that  his  whole 
countenance  seemed  to  be  saying,  "  Please,  no  special 
expressions  of  respect,"  as  he  rapidly  passed  by  the  group 
congregated  there. 


VII. 

Finally  Matvy^y  Nikitich  arrived,  and  a  bailiff,  a  spare 
man,  with  a  long  neck  and  sidling  gait,  and  also  a  lower 
lip  that  protruded  sidewise,  entered  the  jury-room. 

This  baihff  was  an  honest  man,  who  had  received  a 
university  education,  but  was  not  able  to  keep  a  place 
any  length  of  time,  because  he  was  a  confirmed  tippler. 
Three  months  before,  a  countess,  a  protectress  of  his  wife, 
had  got  this  place  for  him,  and  he  had  so  far  been  able  to 
hold  it,  which  made  him  feel  happy. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  are  you  all  here  ? "  he  said,  putting 
on  his  eye-glasses,  and  looking  over  them. 

"  It  seems,  all,"  said  the  merry  merchant. 

"  Let  us  see,"  said  the  bailiff,  and  drawing  a  list  from 
his  pocket,  he  began  to  call  out  the  names,  looking  now 
through  his  glasses,  and  now  over  them. 

"  Councillor  of  State  I.  M.  Nikiforov." 

"  Here,"  said  the  stately  gentleman,  who  knew  about 
all  the  cases  at  law. 

"  Ex-Colonel  Ivan  Semovich  Ivanov." 

"  Here,"  said  the  haggard  man  in  the  uniform  of  an 
officer  out  of  service. 

"  The  Merchant  of  the  second  guild,  Petr  Baklashov." 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  the  good-hearted  merchant,  smiling 
with  his  mouth  wide  open.     "  Ready  !  " 

"  Lieutenant  of  the  Guard  Prince  Dmitri  Nekhlyiidov." 

"  Here,"  answered  Nekhlyudov. 

The  bailiff,  looking  with  an  expression  of  pleasurable 
politeness  above  his  glasses,  made  a  bow,  as  if  to  honour 
him  above  the  rest. 

36 


RESURRECTION  37 

"  Captain  Yiiri  Dmitrievich  Danch^nko,  Merchant  Gri- 
gdri  Efimovich  Kuleshov,"  and  so  on. 

All  but  two  were  present. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  please  proceed  to  the  hall,"  said  the 
bailiff,  pointing  to  the  door  with  a  pohte  gesture. 

They  started,  and,  letting  one  after  another  pass  through 
the  door  into  the  corridor,  went  from  the  corridor  into  the 
court-room. 

The  court-room  was  a  large,  long  hall.  One  end  of  it 
was  occupied  by  a  platform,  which  was  reached  by  three 
steps.  In  the  middle  of  this  elevation  stood  a  table 
which  was  covered  with  a  green  cloth,  bordered  by  a 
green  fringe  of  a  darker  shade.  Behind  the  table  stood 
three  chairs,  with  very  high  carved  oak  backs,  and  behind 
the  chairs  hung  a  bright  life-sized  picture  of  the  emperor 
in  the  uniform  of  a  general,  with  a  sash ;  he  was  repre- 
sented in  the  act  of  stepping  forward,  and  resting  his 
hand  on  his  sabre.  In  the  right-hand  corner  hung  a 
shrine  with  the  image  of  Christ  in  his  crown  of  thorns, 
and  stood  a  pulpit,  while  on  the  right  was  the  desk  of  the 
prosecuting  attorney.  On  the  left,  opposite  the  desk,  was 
the  secretary's  table,  set  back  against  the  wall ;  and 
nearer  to  the  audience  was  a  screen  of  oak  rounds, 
and  back  of  it  the  unoccupied  bench  of  the  defendants. 

On  the  right  on  the  platform  stood  two  rows  of  chairs, 
also  with  high  backs,  for  the  jurors,  and  beneath  them 
were  the  tables  for  the  lawyers.  All  this  was  in  the  fore 
part  of  the  hall,  which  was  divided  by  the  screen  into 
two  parts.  The  back  half  was  occupied  by  benches, 
which,  rising  one  behind  the  other,  went  as  far  as  the 
back  wall.  In  the  front  benches  sat  four  women,  either 
factory  girls  or  chambermaids,  and  two  men,  also  labourers, 
evidently  oppressed  by  the  splendour  of  the  room's  inte- 
rior, and  therefore  speaking  to  each  other  in  a  whisper. 

Soon  after  the  jurors  had  entered,  the  bailiff  went  with 
his  sidling  gait  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  shouted  in 


Q 


8  RESURRECTION 


a  loud  voice,  as  though  he  wished  to  frighten  some- 
body: 

"  The  court  is  coming  ! " 

Everybody  rose,  and  the  judges  walked  out  on  the 
platform.  First  came  the  presiding  judge,  with  his  well- 
developed  muscles  and  beautiful  whiskers.  Then  came 
the  gloomy  member  of  the  court,  in  gold  spectacles,  who 
now  was  even  more  gloomy,  because  just  before  the  ses- 
sion began  he  had  seen  his  brother-in-law,  a  candidate  for 
a  judicial  position,  who  had  informed  him  that  he  had 
just  been  at  his  sister's,  and  that  she  had  told  him  that 
there  would  be  no  dinner. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  go  to  an  inn,"  said 
the  brother-in-law,  smiling. 

"  There  is  nothing  funny  in  this,"  repHed  the  gloomy 
member  of  the  court,  and  grew  gloomier  still. 

And,  finally,  the  third  member  of  the  court,  that  same 
Matvy^y  Nikitich,  who  was  always  late.  He  was  a 
bearded  man,  with  large,  drooping,  kindly  eyes.  This 
member  suffered  from  a  gastral  catarrh ;  with  the  doctor's 
advice  he  had  begun  that  morning  a  new  regimen,  and  it 
was  this  new  regimen  which  had  detained  him  at  home 
longer  than  usual.  Now,  as  he  was  ascending  the  plat- 
form, he  had  a  concentrated  look,  because  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  using  all  kinds  of  guesses,  in  order  to  arrive  at  a 
solution  of  such  questions  as  he  propounded  to  himself. 
Just  now,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  if  the  number  of 
steps  from  the  door  of  the  cabinet  to  the  chair  should  be 
divisible  by  three,  without  a  remainder,  the  new  regimen 
would  cure  him  of  the  catarrh,  but  if  it  did  not  divide 
exactly,  the  regimen  would  be  a  failure.  There  were  in 
all  twenty-six  steps,  but  he  doubled  one,  and  thus  reached 
the  chair  with  his  twenty-seventh  step. 

The  figures  of  the  presiding  judge  and  of  the  members, 
as  they  ascended  the  platform  in  their  uniforms  with  the 
collars   embroidered  in  gold  lace,  were  very  impressive. 


RESURKECTION  39 

They  were  themselves  conscious  of  this,  and  all  three,  as 
though  embarrassed  by  their  grandeur,  swiftly  and  mod- 
estly lowering  their  eyes,  sat  down  on  their  carved  chairs, 
back  of  the  table  with  the  green  cloth,  on  which  towered  a 
triangular  Mirror  of  Law  with  an  eagle,  and  a  glass  vase 
such  as  is  used  on  sideboards  for  confectionery  ;  there  also 
stood  an  inkstand,  and  lay  pens,  clean  paper,  and  newly 
sharpened  pencils  of  all  dimensions.  The  associate  prose- 
cuting attorney  had  come  in  at  the  same  time  as  the  judges. 
He  at  once  walked  up  to  his  place  near  the  window  just 
as  hurriedly,  with  his  portfolio  under  his  arm,  and  waving 
his  hand  in  the  same  manner  as  before,  and  at  once  buried 
himself  in  the  reading  and  examination  of  the  papers, 
utiHzing  every  minute  in  order  to  prepare  himself  for  the 
case.  This  was  the  fourth  time  he  had  had  a  case  to 
prosecute.  He  was  very  ambitious  and  had  firmly  deter- 
mined to  make  a  career,  therefore  he  regarded  it  as  neces- 
sary that  the  cases  should  go  against  the  defendant  every 
time  he  prosecuted.  He  was  acquainted  with  the  cliief 
points  in  the  poisoning  case,  and  had  even  formed  a  plan 
of  attack,  but  he  needed  a  few  more  data,  and  was  now 
hurriedly  reading  the  briefs,  and  copying  out  the  necessary 
points. 

The  secretary  was  seated  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
platform,  and,  having  arranged  all  the  documents  that 
might  be  needed,  was  looking  over  a  proscribed  article, 
which  he  had  obtained  and  read  the  day  before.  He 
was  anxious  to  talk  about  this  article  to  the  member 
of  the  court  with  the  long  beard,  who  shared  his  views, 
and  was  trying  to  become  famihar  with  its  contents  before 
he  spoke  to  him  about  it. 


VIII. 

The  presiding  judge  looked  through  the  papers,  put  a 
few  questions  to  the  bailiff  and  the  secretary,  and,  having 
received  affirmative  answers,  gave  the  order  to  bring  in 
the  defendants.  The  door  back  of  the  screen  was  imme- 
diately thrown  open,  and  two  gendarmes  in  caps,  and 
with  unsheathed  swords,  entered,  and  were  followed  by 
the  defendants,  —  by  a  red-haired,  freckled  man,  and 
by  two  women.  The  man  was  clad  in  a  prison  cloak, 
which  was  much  too  broad  and  too  long  for  him.  As  he 
entered  the  court-room,  he  held  his  hands  with  their  out- 
stretched fingers  down  his  legs,  thus  keeping  the  long 
sleeves  back  in  place.  He  did  not  glance  upon  the 
judges  or  upon  the  spectators,  but  gazed  at  the  bench, 
around  which  he  was  walking,  Having  got  to  the  other 
end,  he  let  the  women  sit  down  first,  and  himself  took  up 
a  seat  on  the  very  edge ;  gazing  fixedly  at  the  presiding 
judge,  he  began  to  move  the  muscles  of  his  cheeks,  as 
though  whispering  something.  After  him  came  a  young 
woman,  also  dressed  in  a  prison  cloak.  Her  head  was 
wrapped  in  a  prison  kerchief ;  her  face  was  ashen- white, 
without  eyebrows  or  lashes,  but  with  red  eyes.  This 
woman  seemed  to  be  very  calm.  As  she  was  going  up  to 
her  seat,  her  cloak  caught  on  something,  but  she  carefully, 
without  any  undue  haste,  freed  it,  and  sat  down. 

The  third  defendant  was  Maslova. 

The  moment  she  entered,  the  eyes  of  all  the  men  who 

were  in  the  court-room  were  directed  upon  her,  and  for  a 

long  time  were  riveted  upon  her  white   face,  with  her 

black,  sparkling  eyes,  and  her  swelling  bosom  underneath 

40 


EESURRECTION  41 

her  cloak.  Even  the  gendarme,  near  whom  she  passed, 
gazed  at  her  uuiuterruptedly,  until  she  had  gone  beyond 
him;  when  she  sat  down,  he  rapidly  turned  away,  as 
though  conscious  of  his  guilt,  and,  straightening  himself 
up,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  window  in  front  of  him. 

The  presiding  judge  waited  until  the  defendants  had 
taken  their  seats,  and  the  moment  Maslova  sat  down,  he 
turned  to  the  secretary. 

Then  began  the  usual  procedure :  the  roll-call  of  the 
jurors,  the  discussion  about  those  who  had  failed  to  make 
their  appearance,  and  the  imposition  of  fines  upon  them, 
the  decision  in  regard  to  those  who  wished  to  be  excused, 
and  the  completion  of  the  required  number  from  the 
reserve  jurors.  Then  the  presiding  judge  folded  some 
slips  of  paper,  placed  them  in  the  glass  vase,  and,  rolliug 
up  a  little  the  embroidered  sleeves  of  his  uniform  and 
baring  his  hirsute  arms,  began,  with  the  gestures  of  a 
prestidigitator,  to  take  out  one  shp  at  a  time ;  these  he 
unrolled  and  read.  Then  the  presiding  judge  adjusted 
his  sleeves,  and  ordered  the  priest  to  swear  in  the  jurors. 

The  old  priest,  with  a  swollen,  sallow  face,  in  a  cinna- 
mon-coloured vestment,  with  a  gold  cross  on  his  breast 
and  a  smaR  decoration  pinned  to  his  vestment,  slowly 
moving  his  swollen  legs  under  his  garment,  went  up  to 
the  reading-desk  which  stood  under  the  image. 

The  jurymen  arose  and  in  a  crowd  moved  up  to  the 
desk. 

"  Please,  come  up,"  said  the  priest,  touching  the  cross 
on  his  chest  with  his  swollen  hand,  and  waiting  for  the 
approach  of  all  the  jurors. 

This  priest  had  taken  orders  forty-six  years  before,  and 
was  preparing  himself  in  three  years  to  celebrate  his 
jubilee  in  the  same  manner  in  which  the  cathedral  proto- 
pope  had  lately  celebrated  his.  He  had  served  in  the 
circuit  court  since  the  opening  of  the  courts,  and  was  very 
proud  of  the  fact  that  he  had  sworn  in  several  tens  of 


42  RESUREECTION 

thousands  of  people,  and  that  at  his  advanced  age  he  con- 
tinued to  labour  for  the  good  of  the  Church,  of  his  country, 
and  of  his  family,  to  whom  he  would  leave  a  house  and 
a  capital  of  not  less  than  thirty  thousand  roubles  in 
bonds.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  his  work 
in  the  court-room,  which  consisted  in  having  people  take 
an  oath  over  the  Gospel,  in  which  swearing  of  oaths  is 
directly  prohibited,  was  not  good ;  he  was  not  in  the  least 
annoyed  by  his  routine  occupation,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
liked  it  very  much,  because  it  gave  him  an  opportunity 
of  getting  acquainted  with  nice  gentlemen.  He  had  just 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  famous  lawyer,  who 
inspired  him  with  great  respect  because  he  had  received 
a  fee  of  ten  thousand  roubles  for  nothing  more  than  the 
case  of  the  old  woman  with  the  immense  flowers. 

When  the  jurors  had  walked  up  the  steps  of  the  plat- 
form, the  priest,  bending  his  bald,  gray  head  to  one  side, 
stuck  it  through  the  greasy  opening  of  the  scapulary,  and, 
arranging  his  scanty  hair,  addressed  the  jurors. 

'  "  Eaise  your  right  hands  and  put  your  fingers  together 
like  this,"  he  said,  in  the  delil^erate  voice  of  an  old  man, 
lifting  his  plump  hand,  with  dimples  beneath  every  finger, 
and  putting  three  fingers  together.  "  Now  repeat  after 
me,"  he  said,  and  began,  "  I  promise  and  swear  by  Al- 
mighty God,  before  His  Holy  Gospel  and  before  the  Life- 
giving  Eood  of  the  Lord,  that  in  the  case,  in  which  — " 
he  said,  making  a  pause  after  every  sentence.  "  Don't  drop 
your  hand,  but  hold  it  like  this,"  he  addressed  a  young 
man,  who  had  dropped  his  hand,  —  "  that  in  the  case,  in 
which  —  " 

The  stately  gentleman  with  the  whiskers,  the  colonel, 
the  merchant,  and  others  held  their  fingers  as  the  priest 
had  ordered  them  to  do ;  some  of  these  held  them  high 
and  distinctly  formed,  as  though  this  gave  them  special 
pleasure ;  others  again  held  them  reluctantly  and  in  an 
indefinite  manner.     Some  repeated  the  words  too  loudly, 


KESURRECTION  43 

as  though  with  undue  zeal  and  with  an  expression  which 
said,  "  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  my  speaking  aloud ; " 
others  again  spoke  in  a  whisper,  and  fell  behind  the  words 
of  the  priest,  and  then,  as  if  frightened,  hastened  to  catch 
up  with  him ;  some  held  their  three  fingers  firmly  folded, 
and  flaunted  them,  as  though  they  were  afraid  of  freeing 
something  from  their  hands ;  others  loosened  their  fingers 
and  again  gathered  them  up.  All  felt  awkward,  and  the 
old  priest  alone  was  firmly  convinced  that  he  was  per- 
forming a  useful  work. 

After  the  oath  had  been  administered,  the  presiding 
judge  told  the  jurors  to  elect  a  foreman.  The  jurymen 
arose,  and,  crowding  each  other,  went  into  the  council- 
room,  where  they  immediately  took  out  their  cigarettes, 
and  began  to  smoke.  Somebody  proposed  the  stately 
gentleman  for  a  foreman ;  he  was  chosen  by  unanimous 
consent,  and,  throwing  away  and  extinguishing  the  ciga- 
rette stumps,  they  returned  to  the  court-room.  The  stately 
gentleman  announced  to  the  presiding  judge  that  he  had 
been  chosen  foreman,  and,  stepping  over  each  others'  feet, 
they  sat  down  in  two  rows,  on  the  chairs  with  the  high 
backs. 

Everything  went  without  a  hitch,  almost  with  solem- 
nity, and  this  regularity,  this  sequence  and  solemnity, 
afforded  all  the  participants  pleasure,  for  it  confirmed  them 
in  their  conviction  that  they  were  performing  a  serious 
and  important  public  duty.     Nekhlyiidov,  too,  felt  this. 

The  moment  the  jurors  had  taken  their  seats,  the  pre- 
siding judge  made  a  speech  to  them  about  their  rights, 
their  duties,  and  their  responsibilities.  While  delivering 
his  speech,  the  judge  kept  changing  his  pose :  he  leaned 
now  on  his  right  arm,  now  on  his  left,  now  on  the  back, 
and  now  on  the  arm  of  his  chair ;  he  smoothed  out  the 
edges  of  the  papers,  or  he  stroked  the  paper-knife,  or 
fingered  a  pencil. 

Their  rights  consisted,  according  to  his  words,  in  being 


44  RESURRECTION 

permitted  to  ask  questions  of  the  defendants  through  the 
presiding  judge,  in  having  pencil  and  paper,  and  in  being 
allowed  to  inspect  the  exhibits.  Their  duty  consisted  in 
judging  justly,  and  not  falsely.  And  their  responsibility 
was  this :  if  they  did  not  keep  their  consultations  secret, 
or  if  they  established  any  communication  with  the  out- 
side world,  they  would  be  subject  to  punishment. 

Everybody  listened  with  respectful  attention.  The 
merchant,  wafting  around  him  the  odour  of  liquor,  and  re- 
straining himself  from  loud  belching,  approvingly  nodded 
his  head  at  every  sentence. 


IX. 

Having  finished  his  speech,  the  judge  turned  to  the 
defendants. 

"  Simon  Kartinkin,  arise  !  "  he  said. 

Simon  got  up  with  a  jerk,  and  the  muscles  of  his 
cheeks  moved  more  rapidly. 

"  Your  name  ? " 

•"  Simon  Petrov  Kartinkin,"  he  answered  rapidly,  in  a 
crackling  voice,  evidently  having  prepared  his  answer  in 
advance. 

"  Your  rank  ? " 

"  Peasant." 

"  What  Government  and  county  ? " 

"  From  the  Government  of  Tula,  Krapivensk  County, 
Kupyausk  township,  village  of  Borki." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Thirty-three ;  born  in  one  thousand  —  " 

"  What  is  your  religion  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  Kussian,  an  Orthodox." 

"  Married  ? " 

«  No,  sir." 

"  What  is  your  occupation  ? " 

"  I  worked  in  the  corridor  of  '  Hotel  Mauritania.'  " 

"  Have  you  been  in  court  before  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  sentenced,  because  I  used  to 
live  —  " 

"  You  have  not  been  tried  before  ?  " 

"  So  help  me  God,  never." 

"  Have  you  received  a  copy  of  the  indictment  ? " 

"  I  have." 

45 


46  RESURRECTION 

"  Take  your  seat !  Evfimiya  Ivanovna  Boclikova,"  the 
presiding  judge  addressed  the  uext  defendant. 

But  Simon  continued  standing,  and  Bochkova  could 
not  be  seen  behind  his  back. 

"  Kartinkin,  sit  down." 

Kartinkin  continued  to  stand. 

"  Kartinkin,  sit  down  !  " 

But  Kartinkin  still  stood  up ;  he  sat  down  only  when 
the  bailiff  ran  up,  and,  bending  his  head  down,  and  un- 
naturally opening  his  mouth,  said  to  him  in  a  tragic 
whisper  :  "  Sit  down,  sit  down  !  " 

Kartinkin  dropped  as  fast  into  his  seat  as  he  had  shot 
up  before,  and,  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak,  began  once 
more  silently  to  move  his  cheeks. 

"  Your  name  ? "  the  judge  addressed  the  second  defend- 
ant, with  a  sigh  of  fatigue,  without  looking  at  her,  and 
looking  up  something  in  the  document  which  was  lying 
before  him.  The  presiding  judge  was  so  used  to  his  cases 
that,  in  order  to  expedite  matters,  he  was  able  to  attend 
to  two  things  at  the  same  time. 

Bochkova  was  forty-three  years  old ;  her  rank,  burgess 
of  Kolomna ;  her  occupation,  corridor  maid  in  the  same 
"  Hotel  Mauritania."  She  had  not  been  before  under  trial, 
and  had  received  the  indictment.  She  answered  all  the 
questions  very  freely,  and  with  such  intonations  as  though 
she  meant  to  convey  the  idea :  "  Yes,  I,  Evfimiya  Boch- 
kova, have  received  the  copy,  and  am  proud  of  it,  and 
allow  nobody  to  laugh  at  me."  She  did  not  wait  for  the 
permission  to  be  seated,  but  sat  down  the  moment  the 
last  question  was  answered. 

"  Your  name  ? "  the  gallant  presiding  judge  exceedingly 
politely  addressed  the  third  defendant.  "  You  must  stand 
up ! "  he  added,  softly  and  kindly,  noticing  that  Maslova 
was  sitting. 

Maslova  started  up  with  a  swift  motion,  and  with  an 
expression    of  readiness,  thrusting  forward  her  swelhng 


EESURKECTION  47 

bosom,  looked,  without  answering,  at  the  face  of  the  judge 
with  her  smiling  and  slightly  squinting  black  eyes. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? " 

"  Lyubdv,"  she  quickly  replied. 

In  the  meantime,  Nekhlyudov,  who  had  put  on  his 
eye-glasses,  was  watching  the  defendants  while  the  ques- 
tions were  being  asked.  "  It  can't  be,"  he  thought,  rivet- 
ing his  eyes  on  the  defendant.  "  But  how  is  it  Lyubov  ? " 
he  thought,  upon  liearing  her  answer. 

The  judge  wanted  to  continue  his  questions,  but  the 
member  in  the  spectacles,  saying  something  angrily  under 
his  breath,  stopped  him.  The  judge  nodded  consent,  and 
again  turned  to  the  defendant. 

"  Lyubov  ? "  he  said.  "  A  different  name  is  given 
here." 

The  defendant  remained  silent. 

"  I  ask  what  your  real  name  is  ? " 

"  By  what  name  were  you  baptized  ? "  the  member 
asked,  angrily. 

"  Formerly  I  was  called  Katerina." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  Nekhlyiidov  kept  saying  to  himself, 
and  meanwhile  he  knew  beyond  any  doubt  that  it  was 
she,  the  same  girl,  half-educated,  half-chambermaid,  with 
whom  he  had  once  been  in  love,  precisely,  in  love,  but 
whom  he  had  seduced  during  an  uncontrollable  transport 
and  then  had  abandoned,  and  whom  he  later  never  thought 
of,  because  that  recollection  would  have  been  too  painful 
to  him  and  would  have  condemned  him ;  it  would  have 
proved  that  he,  who  was  so  proud  of  his  "  decency,"  not 
only  was  not  decent,  but  had  simply  treated  this  woman 
contemptibly. 

Yes,  it  was  she.  He  now  saw  clearly  that  exclusive 
and  mysterious  individuality  which  separates  one  person 
from  another  and  makes  him  exclusive,  one,  and  unre- 
peated.  Beneath  the  unnatural  pallor  and  plumpness 
of    her    face,  this    individuality,  this    sweet,  exceptional 


48  RESURRECTION 

individuality,  was  in  her  face,  her  lips,  her  .slightly  squint- 
ing eyes,  and,  above  all  else,  in  her  naive,  smiling  glance, 
and  in  that  expression  of  readiness,  not  only  in  her  face, 
but  in  her  whole  figure. 

"  You  ought  to  have  said  so,"  the  judge  said,  still  very 
softly.     "  Your  patronymic  ?  " 

"  I  am  of  illegitimate  birth,"  said  M^slova. 

"  How  were  you  called  by  your  godfather  ? " 

"  Mikhaylovna." 

"  What  could  her  crime  be  ?  "  Nekhlyiidov  continued  to 
think,  breathing  with  difficulty. 

"  Your  family  name  ?  "  continued  the  judge. 

"  Maslova,  by  my  mother." 

"  Eank  ? " 

"  Burgess." 

"  Of  the  Orthodox  faith  ? " 

«  Yes." 

"  Occupation  ?     What  was  your  occupation  ?  " 

Maslova  was  silent. 

"  What  was  your  occupation  ?  "  repeated  the  judge. 

"  I  lived  in  an  establishment,"  she  said. 

"  In  what  kind  of  an  establishment  ? "  angrily  asked 
the  member  in  the  spectacles. 

"  You  know  yourself  in  what  kind,"  said  Maslova, 
smiling,  and,  immediately  turning  around,  she  again  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  presiding  judge. 

There  was  something  so  unusual  in  the  expression  of 
her  face,  and  something  so  terrible  and  pitiable  in  the 
meaning  of  the  words  which  she  had  uttered,  in  her 
smile,  and  in  that  rapid  glance  which  she  then  cast  upon 
the  whole  court-room,  that  the  presiding  judge  lost  his 
composure,  and  for  a  moment  ensued  a  complete  silence 
in  the  hall.  The  silence  was  broken  by  the  laughter  of 
somebody  among  the  spectators.  Somebody  else  cried, 
"  Hush  ! "  The  presiding  judge  raised  his  head  and  con- 
tinued the  questions. 


RESURRECTION  49 

"  Have  you  ever  been  tried  or  under  a  judicial  inquest 
before  ? " 

"  No,"  softly  said  Maslova,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Have  you  received  the  indictment  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  Take  your  seat,"  said  the  presiding  judge. 

The  defendant  lifted  her  skirt  with  a  motion  with 
which  dressed  up  women  adjust  their  train,  and  sat  down, 
folding  her  small  white  hands  in  the  sleeve  of  the  cloak, 
without  taking  her  eyes  off  the  presiding  judge. 

Then  began  the  roll-call  of  the  witnesses,  and  the  re- 
moval of  the  witnesses,  and  the  determination  of  the 
medical  expert,  and  his  call  to  the  court-room.  Then 
the  secretary  rose  and  began  to  read  the  indictment.  He 
read  with  a  clear  and  loud  enunciation,  but  so  rapidly 
that  his  voice,  with  its  incorrectly  articulated  r's  and  I's, 
mingled  into  one  uninterrupted,  soporific  din.  The  judges 
leaned  now  on  one  arm  of  the  chair,  now  on  the  other, 
now  on  the  table,  or  against  the  back,  and  now  closed 
their  eyes  or  opened  them  and  passed  some  words  to  each 
other  in  a  whisper.  One  gendarme  several  times  held 
back  his  incipient  convulsive  yawning. 

Of  the  defendants,  Kartinkin  never  stopped  moving  his 
cheeks.  Bochkova  sat  very  quiet  and  erect,  occasionally 
scratching  her  head  underneath  her  kerchief. 

Maslova  sat  motionless,  listening  to  the  reader  and 
looking  at  him  ;  now  and  then  she  shuddered,  as  though 
wishing  to  contradict,  blushed,  and  drew  deep  sighs  ;  she 
changed  the  position  of  her  hands,  looked  around  her,  and 
again  riveted  her  eyes  on  the  reader. 

Nekhlyiidov  sat  in  the  first  row,  on  his  high  chair,  the 
second  from  the  outer  edge ;  he  did  not  take  off  his  eye- 
glasses, and  gazed  at  Maslova,  while  his  soul  was  in  a 
complicated  and  painful  ferment. 


The  indictment  was  as  follows  :  On  the  seventeenth  of 
January,  188-  the  police  was  informed  by  the  proprietor 
of  "  Hotel  Mauritania,"  of  that  city,  of  the  sudden  death 
of  the  transient  Siberian  merchant  of  the  second  guild, 
Ferapont  Smyelkov,  who  had  been  staying  in  his  establish- 
ment. According  to  the  testimony  of  the  physician  of  the 
fourth  ward,  Smyelkdv's  death  had  been  caused  by  a  rupture 
of  the  heart,  induced  by  an  immoderate  use  of  spirituous 
liquors,  and  Smyelkdv's  body  was  committed  to  the  earth 
on  the  third  day.  In  the  meantime,  on  the  fourth  day 
after  Smyelkdv's  death,  there  returned  from  St.  Petersburg 
his  countryman  and  companion,  the  Siberian  merchant 
Timdkhin,  who,  upon  learning  of  the  death  of  his  friend 
Smyelkov,  and  of  the  circumstances  under  which  it  had 
taken  place,  expressed  his  suspicion  that  Smyelkdv's  death 
was  due  to  unnatural  causes,  and  that  he  had  been  poi- 
soned by  evil-doers,  who  had  seized  his  money  and  a  gold 
ring,  which  were  wanting  from  the  inventory  of  his 
property.  As  a  result  of  this,  an  inquest  was  instituted^ 
and  the  following  was  ascertained  :  First,  that  it  was  known 
to  the  proprietor  of  "  Hotel  Mauritania  "  and  to  the  clerk 
of  Merchant  Starikdv,  with  whom  Smyelkdv  had  had  busi- 
ness affairs  after  his  arrival  in  the  city,  that  Smyelkdv 
ought  to  have  had  3,800  roubles,  which  he  had  received 
from  the  bank,  whereas  in  the  travelhng-bag  and  pocket- 
book,  which  had  been  sealed  up  at  his  death,  only  312 
roubles  and  sixteen  kopeks  were  found.  Secondly,  that 
the  day- and  night   preceding  his  death,  Smyelkdv  had 

60 


RESURRECTION  51 

passed  with  the  prostitute  Lyubdv,  who  had  been  twice 
to  his  room.  Thirdly,  that  said  prostitute  had  sold  a 
diamond  ring,  belonging  to  Smyelkov,  to  the  landlady. 
Fourthly,  that  the  hotel  maid  Evfimiya  Boehkova  had 
deposited  eighteen  hundred  roubles  in  a  bank  on  the  day 
after  Smyelkov's  death.  And,  fifthly,  that,  according  to 
the  declaration  of  the  prostitute  Lyubov,  the  hotel  servant 
Simon  Kartinkin  had  handed  a  powder  to  said  prostitute 
Lyubov,  advising  her  to  pour  it  into  the  wine  of  Merchant 
Smyelkov,  which  she,  according  to  her  own  confession, 
had  promptly  done. 

At  the  inquest,  the  defendant,  said  prostitute,  named 
Lyub6v,  deposed  that  during  the  presence  of  Merchant 
Smyelkov  in  the  house  of  prostitution,  in  which,  according 
to  her  words,  she  had  been  working,  she  had  really  been 
sent  by  the  said  Merchant  Smyelkov  to  his  room  in  the 
"  Hotel  Mauritania  "  to  fetch  him  some  money  ;  and  that 
there  she  had  opened  his  valise  with  the  key  which  he  had 
given  her,  and  had  taken  from  it  forty  roubles,  as  ordered 
to  do,  but  that  she  had  not  taken  any  more  money,  to 
which  Simon  Kartinkin  and  Evfimiya  Boehkova  could 
be  her  witnesses,  for  she  had  opened  and  closed  the  vahse 
and  had  taken  out  the  money  in  their  presence. 

But  as  to  the  poisoning  of  Smyelkov,  prostitute  Lyubov 
deposed  that  upon  her  third  arrival  at  Merchant  Smyel- 
kov's room,  she  had  really,  at  the  instigation  of  Simon 
Kartinkin,  given  him  some  powders  in  his  cognac,  think- 
ing them  to  be  such  as  would  induce  sleep,  for  the  purpose 
of  beiug  freed  from  him  as  soon  as  he  fell  asleep ;  that  she 
had  taken  no  money  ;  and  that  the  ring  had  been  given 
her  by  Smyelkov  himself,  when  he  had  dealt  her  some 
blows,  and  she  had  intended  to  leave. 

At  the  inquisition,  the  defendants,  Evfimiya  Boehkova 
and  Simon  Kartinkin,  deposed  as  follows  :  Evfimiya  Boeh- 
kova deposed  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  lost  money ; 
that  she  had  not  once  entered  the  merchant's  room ;  and 


52  KESURRECTION 

that  Lyubov  had  been  there  by  herself,  and  that,  if  any 
money  had  been  stolen,  it  must  have  been  stolen  by  Lyu- 
bov when  she  had  come  with  the  merchant's  key  for  the 
money. 

At  this  point  of  the  reading,  Maslova  shuddered,  and,, 
opening  her  mouth,  glanced  at  Bochkova. 

When  the  eighteen-hundred^rouble  bank-bill  was  pre- 
sented to  Evfimiya  Bochkova,  the  secretary  continued 
reading,  and  she  was  asked  where  she  got  such  a  sum 
of  money,  she  deposed  that  it  had  been  earned  by  her 
during  twelve  years  in  conjunction  with  Simon,  whom 
she  had  intended  to  marry. 

At  the  inquest,  the  defendant  Simon  Kartinkin  in  his 
first  deposition  confessed  that  he  and  Bochkova  had 
together  stolen  the  money,  at  the  instigation  of  Maslova, 
who  had  come  from  the  house  of  prostitution  with  the 
key,  and  that  he  had  divided  it  among  himself,  Maslova, 
and  Bochkova ;  he  had  also  confessed  that  he  had  given 
the  powders  to  Maslova,  in  order  to  induce  sleep.  But  at 
the  second  deposition  he  denied  his  participation  in  the 
stealing  of  the  money,  and  his  having  handed  any  powders 
to  Maslova,  and  accused  Maslova  alone.  But  in  regard 
to  the  money  which  Bochkova  had  deposited  in  the  bank, 
he  deposed,  similar  to  her  statement,  that  she  had  earned 
that  money  in  conjunction  with  him  during  the  eighteen 
years  of  her  service  at  the  hotel,  from  the  gratuities  of 
the  gentlemen. 

To  clear  up  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  it  was  found 
necessary  to  hold  an  inquest  over  the  body  of  Merchant 
Smyelkov,  and  consequently  an  order  was  given  to  ex- 
hume Smyelkdv's  body  and  to  investigate  both  the  con- 
tents of  his  entrails,  and  the  changes  that  might  have 
taken  place  in  liis  organism.  The  investigation  of  his 
entrails  showed  that  death  had  been  occasioned  by  poison- 
ing. Then  there  followed  in  the  indictment  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  cross-examination,  and  the  depositions  of  the 


RESURRECTION  63 

witnesses.  The  conclusion  of  the  indictment  was  as 
follows : 

Smyelkov,  merchant  of  the  second  guild,  having  in  a 
fit  of  intoxication  and  debauch  entered  into  relations 
with  a  prostitute  in  Kitaeva's  house  of  prostitution,  by 
the  name  of  Lyubov,  and  having  taken  a  special  liking 
to  her,  had,  on  the  seventeenth  of  January,  18 8-,  while 
in  Kitaeva's  house  of  prostitution,  sent  the  above-men- 
tioned prostitute  Lyubov,  with  the  key  of  his  valise,  to 
his  room  in  the  hotel,  in  order  that  she  might  procure 
from  his  valise  forty  roubles,  which  he  had  wished  to 
spend.  Having  arrived  at  his  room,  Katerina  Maslova, 
while  taking  this  money,  had  entered  into  an  agreement 
with  Bochkova  and  with  Kartinkin  to  seize  all  the  money 
and  the  valuables  belonging  to  Merchant  Smyelkov,  and 
to  divide  them  up  among  themselves,  which  was  promptly 
executed  by  them  (again  Maslova  shuddered,  raised  her- 
self in  her  seat,  and  grew  purple  in  her  face),  whereat 
Maslova  received  the  diamond  ring,  —  the  secretary  con- 
tinued reading,  —  and  probably  a  small  amount  of  money, 
which  has  been  either  concealed  or  lost  by  her,  since 
during  that  night  she  happened  to  be  in  an  intoxicated 
condition. 

In  order  to  conceal  the  traces  of  their  crime,  the  par- 
ticipants had  agreed  to  entice  Merchant  Smyelkov  back 
to  his  room  and  to  poison  him  there  with  arsenic,  which 
was  in  Kartinkin's  possession.  For  this  purpose,  Maslova 
returned  to  the  house  of  prostitution  and  there  persuaded 
Merchant  Smyelkov  to  drive  back  with  her  to  his  room 
in  "  Hotel  Mauritania."  Upon  Smyelkov's  return,  Mas- 
lova, having  received  the  powders  from  Kartmkin,  poured 
them  into  the  wine,  and  gave  it  to  Smyelkov  to  drink» 
from  which  ensued  his  death. 

In  view  of  the  above-mentioned  facts,  Simon  Kartin- 
kin, a  peasant  of  the  village  of  Borki,  and  thirty-three 
years  of  age.  Burgess  Evfimiya  Ivanovna  Bochkova,  forty- 


54  RESURRECTION 

three  years  of  age,  and  Burgess  Katerina  Mikhaylovna 
Maslova,  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  are  accused  of  hav- 
ing, on  January  17,  18  8-,  conspired  to  seize  the  money 
of  Merchant  Smyelkdv,  to  the  sum  of  twenty-five  hundred 
roubles,  and  to  deprive  Merchant  Smyelkdv  of  his  life, 
in  order  to  conceal  the  traces  of  their  crime,  for  which 
purpose  they  administered  poison  to  him,  which  caused 
his  death. 

This  crime  is  provided  for  in  Article  1455  of  the  Crimi- 
nal Code.  In  pursuance  thereof,  and  on  the  basis  of 
article  so  and  so  of  the  Statutes  of  Criminal  Procedure, 
Peasant  Simon  Kartinkin,  Evfimiya  Bdchkova,  and  Bur- 
gess Katerina  Maslova  are  subject  to  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  circuit  court  and  are  to  be  tried  by  jury. 

Thus  the  secretary  ended  the  reading  of  his  long  indict- 
ment, and,  putting  away  the  documents,  sat  down  in  his 
seat,  passing  both  his  hands  through  his  hair.  Everybody 
drew  a  sigh  of  rehef,  with  the  pleasant  conviction  that 
now  the  investigation  would  begin,  when  everything 
would  be  cleared  up,  and  justice  would  be  satisfied. 
Nekhlyiidov  alone  did  not  experience  that  sensation :  he 
was  all  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  terrible 
charges  brought  against  Maslova,  whom  he  had  known 
as  an  innocent  and  charming  girl  ten  years  before. 


XI 

When  the  reading  of  the  indictment  was  ended,  the 
presiding  judge,  having  consulted  with  the  members, 
turned  to  Kartinkin  with  an  expression  which  manifestly 
said  that  now  they  would  most  surely  ascertain  all  the 
details  of  the  case. 

"  Peasant  Simon  Kartinkin,"  he  began,  leaning  to  his 
left. 

Simon  Kartinkin  got  up,  holding  his  hands  close  at  his 
sides,  and  bending  forward  with  his  whole  body,  while 
his  cheeks  continued  to  move  inaudibly. 

"You  are  accused  of  having,  on  January  17,  18 8-,  in 
company  with  Evfimiya  Bdchkova  and  Katerina  Mas- 
lova,  appropriated  from  Smyelkov's  vahse  his  money,  and 
then  of  having  brought  arsenic,  and  having  persuaded 
Katerina  Maslova  to  give  it  to  Merchant  Smyelkov  to 
drink  in  wine,  from  which  his  death  ensued.  Do  you 
plead  guilty  ?  "  he  said,  leaning  to  his  right. 

"  It  is  entirely  impossible,  because  it  is  our  duty  to 
serve  the  guests  —  " 

"  You  will  tell  that  later.     Do  you  plead  guilty  ? " 

"Not  at  all.     I  only— " 

"  You  will  say  that  later.  Do  you  plead  guilty  ? "  the 
presiding  judge  repeated  calmly,  but  firmly. 

"  I  can't  do  that  because  —  " 

Again  the  bailiff  ran  up  to  Simon  Kartinkin,  and 
stopped  him,  in  a  tragic  whisper. 

The  presiding  judge,  with  an  expression  on  his  face  as 

though  this  matter  had  been  settled,  changed  the  position 

55 


56  RESURRECTION 

of  the  elbow  of  that  arm,  in  the  hand  of  which  he  was 
holding  a  paper,  and  addressed  Evfimiya  Bochkova. 

"  Evfimiya  Bochkova,  you  are  accused  of  having  taken, 
on  January  17,  188-,  in  company  with  Simon  Kartinkin 
and  Katerina  Maslova,  from  Merchant  Smyelkov's  valise, 
his  money  and  ring,  and  after  dividing  the  property  up 
among  yourselves,  of  having  tried  to  conceal  your  crime 
by  giving  Merchant  Smyelkdv  poison,  from  which  his 
death  ensued.     Do  you  plead  guilty  ? " 

"  I  am  guilty  of  nothing,"  the  defendant  spoke  boldly 
and  firmly.  "  I  did  not  even  go  into  his  room  —  And 
as  this  lewd  one  went  in  there,  she  did  it." 

"  You  will  tell  that  later,"  the  presiding  judge  said 
again,  just  as  gently  and  firmly  as  before.  "  So  you  do 
not  plead  guilty  ? " 

"  I  did  not  take  the  money,  and  I  did  not  give  him 
anything  to  drink,  and  I  was  not  in  his  room.  If  I  had 
been  in  there,  I  should  have  kicked  her  out." 

"  You  do  not  plead  guilty  ? " 

"  Never." 

"  Very  well." 

"  Katerina  Maslova,"  began  the  presiding  judge,  address- 
ing the  third  defendant,  "  you  are  accused  of  having 
come  from  the  public  house  to  the  room  of '  Hotel  Mauri- 
tania,' with  the  key  to  Merchant  Smyelkov's  valise,  and  of 
having  taken  from  that  valise  money  and  a  ring,"  he  said, 
as  though  reciting  a  lesson  learned  by  rote,  leaning  his 
ear  to  the  member  on  the  left,  who  was  informing  him 
that  according  to  the  list  of  the  exhibits  a  certain  vial 
was  wanting,  "  of  having  taken  from  that  valise  money 
and  a  ring,"  repeated  the  judge,  "  and,  after  having  di- 
vided up  the  stolen  property,  and  having  arrived  with 
Merchant  Smyelkov  at  '  Hotel  Mauritania,'  of  having 
offered  Smyelkov  poisoned  wine  to  drink,  from  the  effects 
of  which  he  died.     Do  you  plead  guilty  ? " 

"  I   am    not  guilty   of    anything,"   she    spoke   rapidly. 


RESURRECTION  67 

"  As  I  have  said  before,  so  I  say  now :  I  did  not  take  it, 
I  did  not,  I  did  not ;  and  the  ring  he  gave  me  himself." 

"  You  do  not  plead  guilty  to  the  charge  of  having  taken 
the  twenty-five  hundred  roubles  ? "  said  the  presiding 
judge. 

"  I  say  I  took  nothing  but  the  forty  roubles." 

"  Do  you  plead  guilty  to  having  put  some  powders  into 
the  wine  of  Merchant  Smyelkov  ? " 

"  I  do.  Only  I  thought  that  they  were  sleeping-powders, 
and  that  nothing  would  happen  to  him  from  them.  I 
had  no  intentions  of  doing  wrong.  I  say  before  God, 
I  did  not  wish  his  death,"  she  said. 

"  And  so  you  do  not  plead  guilty  to  having  taken  the 
money  and  ring  of  Merchant  Smyelkov,"  said  the  presid- 
ing judge.  "  But  you  do  plead  guilty  to  the  charge  of 
having  administered  the  powders  ? " 

"  I  plead  guilty  to  this,  only  I  thought  they  were 
sleeping-powders.  I  gave  them  to  him  to  put  him  to 
sleep ;  I  had  no  other  intention." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  presiding  judge,  evidently  satis- 
fied with  the  result.  "  Tell,  then,  how  it  all  happened," 
he  said,  leaning  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  placing 
both  his  hands  on  the  table.  "  Tell  everything  as  it  hap- 
pened. You  may  be  able  to  alleviate  your  condition  by  a 
frank  confession." 

Maslova  continued  to  gaze  at  the  presiding  judge,  and 
to  keep  silent. 

"  Tell  how  it  all  happened." 

"  How  it  happened  ? "  Maslova  suddenly  began,  in  a 
hurried  voice.  "  I  arrived  at  the  hotel ;  I  was  taken  to 
his  room,  and  lie  was  already  there,  very  drunk."  She 
pronounced  the  word  "  he  "  with  a  peculiar  expression  of 
terror,  opening  her  eyes  wide.  "  I  wanted  to  drive  home, 
but  he  would  not  let  me." 

She  stopped,  as  though  having  suddenly  lost  the  thread 
of  what  she  was  saying,  or  recalling  something  else. 


58  RESURRECTION 

"Well,  and  then?" 

"  And  then  ?     I  stayed  there,  and  then  drove  home." 

At  that  time  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney  half 
raised  himself,  leaning  unnaturally  on  one  elbow. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  ask  a  question  ? "  said  the  presiding 
judge,  and,  on  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney's  affirma- 
tive answer,  he  indicated  by  a  gesture  that  he  could  put 
the  question. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  whether  the  defendant  had  been 
acquainted  with  Simon  Kartinkin  before  that,"  said  the 
associate  prosecuting  attorney,  without  looking  at  Mas- 
lova. 

Having  put  the  question,  he  compressed  his  lips  and 
frowned. 

The  judge  repeated  the  question.  Maslova  gazed 
frightened  at  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney. 

"  With  Simon  ?     Yes,"  she  said. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  wherein  the  defendant's  ac- 
quaintance with  Kartinkin  consisted,  and  whether  they 
had  frequent  communications." 

"  What  this  acquaintance  consisted  in  ?  He  used  to 
invite  me  to  his  room,  but  there  was  no  other  acquaint- 
ance," replied  Maslova,  restlessly  turning  her  eyes  from 
the  associate  prosecuting  attorney  to  the  presiding  judge, 
and  back  again. 

"I  should  Hke  to  know  why  Kartinkin  used  to  invite 
Maslova  exclusively,  and  no  other  girls  ? "  said  the  asso- 
ciate prosecuting  attorney,  half-closing  his  eyes,  and  with 
a  light  Mephistophelian  smile. 

"  I  do  not  know.  How  can  I  know  ? "  replied  Maslova, 
casting  a  frightened  look  all  around  her,  and  for  a  moment 
resting  her  eyes  on  Nekhlyiidov.  "  He  invited  whom  he 
pleased." 

"  Has  she  recognized  me  ? "  Nekhlyiidov  thought  in 
terror,  feeling  all  his  blood  rush  to  his  face ;  but  Maslova 
did  not  separate  him  from  the  rest,  and,  turning  imme- 


RESUKRECTION  59 

diately  away  from  him,  riveted  her  eyes  on  the  assistant 
prosecuting  attorney,  with  an  expression  of  terror  in  her 
face. 

"  The  defendant,  then,  denies  having  had  any  close  rela- 
tions with  Kartinkin  ?  Very  well.  I  have  nothing  else 
to  ask." 

And  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney  immediately  re- 
moved his  elbow  from  the  desk,  and  began  to  write  some- 
thing down.  In  reality  he  was  not  writing  anything  at 
all,  but  only  running  his  pen  over  the  letters  of  his  brief, 
but  he  pretended  to  imitate  the  prosecuting  attorneys  and 
lawyers  who,  after  a  clever  question,  make  a  note  in  their 
speeches  that  are  to  crush  their  opponents. 

The  presiding  judge  did  not  at  once  turn  to  the  defend- 
ant, because  he  was  just  then  asking  the  member  in  the 
spectacles  whether  he  agreed  to  his  putting  the  previously 
prepared  and  noted  down  questions. 

"  What  happened  next  ? "  the  presiding  judge  continued 
his  inquiry. 

"  I  came  back  home,"  continued  Maslova,  looking  more 
boldly  at  the  judge,  "  and  gave  the  money  to  the  land- 
lady, and  went  to  bed.  I  had  barely  fallen  asleep  when 
one  of  our  girls,  B^rta,  woke  me  up  with  *  Go,  your  mer- 
chant has  come  again  ! '  I  did  not  want  to  go  out,  but 
the  madam  told  me  to  go.  In  the  meantime,  he"  she 
again  uttered  this  word  with  manifest  terror,  "he  had 
been  all  the  time  treating  our  girls ;  then  he  wanted  to 
send  for  some  more  wine,  but  his  money  was  all  gone. 
The  landlady  did  not  trust  him.  So  he  sent  me  to  his 
room ;  and  he  told  me  where  his  money  was,  and  how 
much  I  should  take.     So  I  went." 

The  presiding  judge  was  whispering  something  to  the 
member  on  the  left,  and  did  not  hear  what  Maslova  was 
saying,  but  to  show  that  he  was  listening,  he  repeated  her 
last  words. 

"  You  went.     Well,  and  then  ? "  he  said. 


60  RESURRECTION 

"  I  went  there  and  did  as  he  had  ordered  me  to  do.  I 
went  to  liis  room.  I  did  not  go  by  myself,  but  called 
Simon  Mikhaylovich,  and  her,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
Bochkova. 

"  She  is  lying ;  I  did  not  put  my  foot  in  there  — " 
began  Evfimiya  Bochkova,  but  she  was  stopped. 

"  I  took  out  four  red  bills  in  their  presence,"  Maslova 
continued,  frowning,  and  without  glancing  at  Bochkova. 

"  Well,  did  not  the  defendant  notice  how  much  money 
there  was  in  it,  while  she  was  taking  the  forty  roubles  ? " 
again  asked  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

Maslova  shuddered,  the  moment  the  prosecuting  attor- 
ney addressed  her.  She  did  not  know  how  to  explain 
her  feeling,  but  she  was  sure  he  meant  her  harm.  "  I  did 
not  count,  but  I  saw  there  were  some  hundred-rouble 
bills  there." 

"  The  defendant  saw  hundred-rouble  bills,  —  I  have 
nothhig  else  to  ask." 

"  Well,  so  you  brought  the  money  ? "  the  presiding 
judge  went  on  to  ask,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  I  did." 

"  Well,  and  then  ?  "  asked  the  presiding  judge. 

"  Then  he  took  me  with  him  once  more,"  said  Maslova. 

"And  how  did  you  give  him  the  wine  with  the 
powder  ? "    asked  the  judge. 

"  How  ?  I  poured  it  into  the  wine,  and  gave  it  to 
him." 

"  Why  did  you  give  it  to  him  ?  " 

Without  answering  the  question,  she  heaved  a  deep 
and  heavy  sigh. 

"  He  would  not  let  me  go,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "  I  got  tired  of  him,  so  I  went  into  the  corridor, 
and  said  to  Simon  Mikhaylovich,  '  If  he'd  only  let  me 
go,  —  I  am  so  tired.'  And  Simon  Mikhaylovich  said, 
'  We  are  tired  of  him,  too.  Let  us  give  him  some  sleep- 
ing-powders ;  that  will  put  him  to  sleep,  and  then  you 


RESURRECTION  61 

will  get  away.'  And  I  said,  '  Very  well ! '  I  thought  it 
was  a  harmless  powder.  He  gave  me  a  paper.  I  went 
in,  and  he  was  lying  behind  a  screen,  and  asked  me  at 
once  to  let  him  have  some  cognac.  I  took  from  the 
table  a  bottle  of  fine-champagne,  filled  two  glasses, — 
one  for  myself,  and  one  for  him,  —  and  poured  the  powder 
into  his  glass.  I  should  never  have  given  it,  if  I  had 
known  what  it  was." 

"  Well,  how  did  you  get  possession  of  the  ring  ? "  asked 
the  presiding  judge. 

"  He  himself  had  made  me  a  present  of  it." 

"  When  did  he  give  it  to  you  ? " 

"  When  we  came  to  his  room,  I  wanted  to  leave,  and 
he  struck  me  upon  the  head,  and  broke  my  comb.  I  grew 
angry,  and  wanted  to  go  away.  He  took  the  ring  off'  his 
finger  and  gave  it  to  me,  asking  me  to  stay,"  she  said. 

Just  then  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney  half-raised 
himself,  and,  with  the  same  feignedly  naive  look,  asked 
the  judge's  permission  to  put  a  few  more  questions.  His 
request  being  granted,  he  bent  his  head  over  his  em- 
broidered collar,  and  asked : 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  long  the  defendant  re- 
mained in  Merchant  Smyelkov's  room." 

Again  Maslova  was  overcome  by  terror,  and,  her  eyes 
restlessly  flitting  from  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney 
to  the  presiding  judge,  she  muttered,  hurriedly : 

"  I  do  not  remember  how  long." 

"  Well,  does  the  defendant  remember  whether  she  called 
elsewhere  in  the  hotel  upon  coming  out  of  Merchant 
Smyelkov's  room  ? " 

Maslova  thought  awhile. 

"  I  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  —  it  was  unoccupied," 
she  said. 

"  Why  did  you  step  in  there  ? "  said  the  associate 
prosecuting  attorney,  enthusiastically,  and  addressing  her 
directly. 


62 


RESURRECTION 


"  I  went  in  to  fix  myself,  and  to  wait  for  a  cab." 
"  And  was  Kartinkin  in  the  room  with  the  defendant, 
or  not  ? " 

"  He  came  in,  too." 

"  What  did  he  come  in  for  ? " 

"There  was  some  of  the  merchant's  fine-champagne 
left,  so  we  drank  it  together." 

"  Ah,  you  drank  it  in  company.     Very  well." 

"Did  the  defendant  have  any  conversation  with 
Simon  ? " 

Maslova  suddenly  frowned,  grew  red  in  her  face,  and 
rapidly  said:  "What  I  said?  Nothing.  I  have  told 
everything  that  took  place.  I  know  nothing  else.  Do 
with  me  what  you  please.  I  am  not  guilty,  and  that's 
all." 

"  I  have  nothing  else,"  the  prosecuting  attorney  said  to 
the  presiding  judge,  and,  unnaturally  raismg  Ms  shoulders, 
began  swiftly  to  note  down  in  the  brief  of  his  speech  the 
confession  of  the  defendant  that  she  had  been  in  an  un- 
occupied room  with  Simon. 

There  ensued  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Have  you  notliing  else  to  say  ? " 

"  I  have  said  everything,"  she  declared,  with  a  sigh,  and 
sat  down  again. 

Thereupon  the  presiding  judge  made  a  note  of  some- 
thing, and,  upon  having  listened  to  a  communication 
which  the  member  on  the  left  had  made  to  him  in  a 
whisper,  he  announced  a  recess  of  ten  minutes  in  the 
session,  and  hurriedly  rose  and  left  the  room.  The  con- 
sultation between  the  presiding  judge  and  the  member  on 
his  left,  the  tall,  bearded  man,  with  the  large,  kindly  eyes, 
consisted  in  the  latter's  information  that  his  stomach  was 
slightly  out  of  order,  and  that  he  wished  to  massage  him- 
self a  little  and  swallow  some  drops.  It  was  this  that  he 
had  told  the  presiding  judge,  and  the  judge  acceded  to 
his  request  and  granted  a  ten  minutes'  recess. 


RESUEKECTION  63 

Right  after  the  judges  rose  the  jurors,  the  lawyers,  and 
the  witnesses,  and,  with  the  pleasurable  sensation  of 
having  performed  a  part  of  an  important  duty,  they 
moved  to  and  fro. 

Nekhlyudov  went  into  the  consultation  room,  and 
there  sat  down  at  the  window. 


XII. 

Yes,  this  was  Katyusha. 

Nekhlyudov's  relations  with  Katyusha  had  been  like 
this : 

Nekhlyudov  saw  Katyusha  for  the  first  time  when,  as 
a  third-year  student  at  the  university,  he  passed  the 
summer  with  his  aunts,  working  on  his  thesis  about 
the  ownership  of  land.  His  vacations  he  usually  passed 
with  his  mother  and  sister  on  his  mother's  suburban 
estate  near  Moscow  ;  but  in  that  particular  year  his  sister 
was  married,  and  his  mother  went  abroad  to  a  watering- 
place.  Nekhlyudov  had  to  work  on  his  essay,  and  so  he 
decided  to  stay  during  the  summer  with  his  aunts.  There, 
in  the  depth  of  the  country,  it  was  quiet,  and  there  were 
no  distractions  ;  and  the  aunts  tenderly  loved  their  nephew 
and  heir,  and  he  loved  them  and  their  old-fashioned  ways 
and  simplicity  of  life. 

During  that  summer  Nekhlyudov  experienced  that  rap- 
turous mood  which  comes  over  a  youth  when  he  for  the 
first  time  discovers,  not  by  the  indications  of  others,  but 
from  within,  all  the  beauty  and  significance  of  Hfe  and  all 
the  importance  of  the  work  which  is  to  be  performed  in 
it  by  each  man ;  when  he  sees  the  endless  perfectibility 
of  himself  and  of  the  whole  universe ;  and  when  he  de- 
votes himself  to  that  perfectibility  not  only  with  the  hope, 
but  with  the  full  conviction  of  being  able  to  attain  the 
perfection  of  which  he  has  been  dreaming.  During  that 
year,  while  attending  his  lectures,  he  had  had  a  chance  of 
reading  Spencer's  Social  Statics,  and  Spencer's  reflec- 
tions on  the  ownership  of  land  had  produced  a  strong 

64 


RESURRECTION  65 

impression  upon  him,  especially  since  he  himself  was  the 
son  of  a  large  proprietress.  His  father  had  not  been  rich, 
but  his  mother  had  received  about  ten  thousand  desyatinas 
of  land  as  a  dowry.  It  was  then  the  first  time  that  he 
had  perceived  the  cruelty  and  injustice  of  private  owner- 
ship, and,  being  one  of  those  men  to  whom  a  sacrifice  in 
the  name  of  moral  demands  affords  the  highest  spiritual 
enjoyment,  he  had  decided  not  to  make  use  of  his  right 
of  the  ownership  of  land,  and  had  given  away  to  the  peas- 
ants the  land  which  he  had  inherited  from  his  father. 
And  it  was  on  this  subject  that  he  was  writing  his  essay. 

His  life  on  the  estate  of  his  aunts,  during  that  summer, 
ran  like  this  :  he  rose  very  early,  sometimes  at  three  o'clock, 
and  before  sunrise,  frequently  before  the  morning  mist  had 
lifted,  went  to  bathe  in  the  river  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  and 
returned  home  while  the  dew  was  still  on  the  grass 
and  the  flowers.  •  At  times,  he  seated  himself,  soon  after 
drinking  his  coffee,  to  write  on  his  essay,  or  to  read  up 
the  sources  for  his  essay ;  but  very  frequently,  instead  of 
reading  or  writing,  he  went  away  from  the  house  and 
wandered  over  fields  and  through  woods.  Before  dinner 
he  fell  asleep  somewhere  in  the  shade  of  the  garden  ;  then, 
at  table,  he  amused  his  aunts  with  his  jollity ;  then  he 
rode  on  horseback,  or  went  out  rowing,  and  in  the  evening 
he  read  again,  or  sat  with  his  aunts,  playing  solitaire. 
Frequently  he  could  not  sleep  during  the  night,  especially 
when  the  moon  was  shining,  because  he  was  overflowing 
with  a  billowing  joy  of  life,  and  so,  instead  of  sleeping,  he 
would  stroll  through  the  garden,  dreaming  and  thinking. 

Thus  he  had  quietly  and  happily  passed  the  first  month 
of  his  sojourn  on  the  estate  of  his  aunts,  without  paying 
the  shghtest  attention  to  the  half-chambermaid,  half-edu- 
cated, black-eyed,  swift-footed  Katyiisha. 

At  that  time,  Nekhlyudov,  who  had  been  brought  up 
under  his  mother's  wing,  though  nineteen  years  of  age, 
was  an  entirely  innocent  youth.     He  dreamed  of  woman 


66  RESURRECTION 

only  as  of  a  wife.  But  all  the  women  who,  according  to  his 
opinion,  could  not  be  his  wife,  were  people  and  not  women, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  But  on  Ascension  day  of 
that  summer  a  neighbour  happened  to  call  with  her  chil- 
dren, two  young  ladies  and  a  gymnasiast,  and  a  young  artist, 
of  peasant  origin,  who  was  staying  at  their  house. 

After  tea  they  began  to  play  the  "  burning  "  catching- 
game  on  the  lawn  before  the  house,  which  had  already 
been  mowed  down.  Katyusha  was  of  the  company.  After 
several  changes  of  places  Nekhlyudov  had  to  run  with 
Katyusha.  It  was  always  a  pleasure  for  Nekhlyudov  to 
see  Katyusha,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  there 
could  be  any  special  relations  between  them. 

"  Well,  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  catch  them,"  said  the  "  burn- 
ing," jolly  artist,  who  was  very  swift  on  his  short  and 
crooked,  but  strong  peasant  legs. 

"  Maybe  they  will  stumble  !  " 

"  No,  you  will  not  catch  us  ! " 

"  One,  two,  three  !  " 

They  clapped  their  hands  three  times.  With  difficulty 
restraining  her  laughter,  Katyusha  rapidly  exchanged 
places  with  Nekhlyudov,  and,  with  her  strong,  rough, 
little  hand  pressing  his  large  hand,  she  started  running  to 
the  left,  rustling  her  starched  skirt. 

Nekhlyudov  was  running  fast,  and,  as  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  caught  by  the  artist,  he  raced  as  fast  as  his  legs 
would  carry  him.  As  he  looked  around  he  saw  the  artist 
close  at  her  heels,  and  she,  moving  her  lithe  young  legs, 
did  not  submit  to  him,  but  got  away  to  his  left.  In  front 
was  a  clump  of  lilac  bushes,  behind  which  no  one  was 
running,  and  Katyusha,  looking  back  at  Nekhlyudov, 
made  a  sign  with  her  head  to  him  to  join  her  behind  the 
bushes.  He  understood  her,  and  ran  back  of  the  clump. 
But  here,  back  of  the  lilac  bushes,  there  was  a  small  ditch 
overgrown  with  nettles,  of  which  he  did  not  know ;  he 
stumbled  into  it,  and  in  his  fall  stung  his  hands  with  the 


RESURRECTION  67 

nettles,  and  wet  them  in  the  evening  dew ;  but  he  imme- 
diately got  up,  laughing  at  himself,  and  ran  out  on  a  clear 
spot. 

Katyusha,  gleaming  with  a  smile  and  with  her  eyes  as 
black  as  moist  blackberries,  was  running  toward  him. 
They  met  and  clasped  each  other's  hands, 

"  The  nettles  have  stung  you,  I  think,"  she  said,  adjust- 
ing her  braid  with  her  free  hand  ;  she  breathed  heavily 
and,  smiling,  looked  straight  at  him  with  her  upturned 
eyes. 

"  I  did  not  know  there  was  a  ditch  there,"  he  said,  him- 
self smiling,  and  not  letting  her  hand  out  of  his. 

She  moved  up  to  him,  and  he,  himself  not  knowing 
how  it  all  happened,  moved  his  face  up  to  hers ;  she  did 
not  turn  away,  and  he  pressed  her  hand  more  firmly,  and 
kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"  I  declare ! "  she  muttered,  and,  with  a  swift  motion 
freeing  her  hand,  ran  away  from  him. 

She  ran  up  to  the  lilac  bushes,  picked  off  two  bunches 
of  withering  white  lilacs,  and  striking  her  heated  face  with 
them  and  looking  around  at  him,  waved  her  hands  in  a 
lively  manner  and  went  back  to  the  players. 

From  that  time  the  relations  between  Nekhlyudov  and 
Katyusha  were  changed  for  those  other  relations  which 
are  established  between  an  innocent  young  man  and  an 
equally  innocent  young  girl,  who  are  attracted  to  each 
other. 

The  moment  Katyusha  entered  the  room,  or  if  he  saw 
her  white  apron  from  a  distance,  everything  seemed  to 
him  as  though  illuminated  by  the  sunlight,  everything 
became  more  interesting,  more  cheerful,  more  significant, 
and  life  was  more  joyful.  She  experienced  the  same.  It 
was  not  merely  Katyusha's  presence  and  nearness  that 
produced  that  effect  upon  Nekhlyudov ;  it  was  also  pro- 
duced by  the  mere  consciousness  that  there  was  a  Ka- 
tyusha, just  as  she  was  affected  by  the  consciousness  of  his 


68  KESUKRECTION 

existence.  If  Nekhlyiidov  received  an  unpleasant  letter 
from  his  mother,  or  if  his  essay  did  not  proceed  satisfac- 
torily, or  if  he  felt  an  inexphcable  youthful  sadness,  —  it 
was  enough  for  him  to  think  of  Katyusha's  existence,  and 
to  see  her,  in  order  that  all  that  should  be  dispersed. 

Katyusha  had  many  household  cares,  but  she  generally 
had  time  to  spare,  and  in  such  moments  she  read  books ; 
Nekhlyiidov  gave  her  the  works  of  Dostoevski  and  of 
Turg(^uev,  which  he  himself  had  just  finished  reading. 
Nothing  gave  her  so  much  pleasure  as  Turg^nev's  "  The 
Calm."  They  conversed  with  each  other  by  fits,  while 
meeting  in  the  corridor,  in  the  balcony,  in  the  yard,  and 
sometimes  in  the  room  of  the  aunts'  old  chambermaid, 
Matr^na  Pavlovna,  with  whom  Katyusha  was  Hving,  and 
to  whose  room  Nekhlyudov  used  to  go  to  drink  unsweet- 
ened tea.  The  conversations  which  took  place  in  the 
presence  of  Matr^na  Pavlovna  were  the  most  enjoyable. 
It  was  much  worse  when  they  talked  to  each  other  with- 
out witnesses.  Their  eyes  at  once  began  to  say  something 
different,  something  much  more  important  than  what  the 
lips  were  saying ;  the  lips  pursed,  and  they  felt  uneasy, 
and  hastened  to  get  away  from  each  other. 

These  relations  existed  between  Nekhlyiidov  and  Ka- 
tyusha during  the  whole  time  of  his  first  visit  at  his  aunts*. 
They  noticed  these  relations,  were  frightened,  and  even 
wrote  about  them  to  Princess  El^na  Ivanovna,  Nekhlyii- 
dov's  mother.  Aunt  Mariya  Ivanovna  was  afraid  lest 
Dmitri  should  have  a  liaison  with  Katyusha.  But  her 
fears  were  groundless :  Nekhlyudov,  without  knowing  it, 
loved  Katyusha,  as  only  innocent  people  love,  and  his 
love  was  his  main  shield  against  his  fall,  and  against  hers. 
He  not  only  had  no  desire  of  a  physical  possession  of 
her,  but  was  even  terrified  at  the  thought  of  such  a  possi- 
bility. There  was  much  more  reason  for  the  fears  of 
poetical  Sofya  Ivanovna,  lest  Dmitri,  with  his  uncom- 
promising and  determined  character,  being  in  love  with 


RESURRECTIOIT  69 

the  girl,  should  make  her  his  wife,  without  paying  any 
attention  to  her  origin  and  position.  If  Nekhlyudov  had 
then  clearly  been  conscious  of  his  love  for  Katyusha,  and 
especially  if  they  had  tried  to  convince  him  that  he  could 
not  and  should  not  by  any  means  unite  his  fate  with  that 
of  the  girl,  it  might  have  easily  happened  that  he,  with 
his  customary  directness  in  everything,  would  have  de- 
cided that  there  were  no  urgent  reasons  against  marrying 
a  girl,  whoever  she  might  be,  if  he  loved  her.  But  his 
aunts  did  not  tell  him  their  fears,  and  so  he  departed 
without  confessing  his  love  to  Katyusha. 

He  was  convinced  that  his  feeling  for  Katyusha  was 
only  one  of  the  manifestations  of  those  feelings  of  the  joy 
of  hving,  which  at  that  time  filled  all  his  being,  and 
which  was  also  shared  by  that  dear,  merry  girl.  As  he 
was  leaving,  and  Katyusha,  standing  on  the  porch  with 
his  aunts,  saw  him  off  with  her  black,  slightly  cross  eyes, 
full  of  tears,  he  was  conscious  of  leaving  behind  him 
something  beautiful  and  dear,  which  would  never  be 
repeated.     And  he  felt  very  sad. 

"  Good-bye,  Katyusha,  I  thank  you  for  everything,"  he 
said,  across  Sofya  Ivanovna's  cap,  seating  himself  in  the 
vehicle. 

"  Good-bye,  Dmitri  Ivanovich,"  she  said,  in  her  pleasant, 
soothing  voice,  and,  restraining  her  tears,  which  filled  her 
eyes,  ran  into  the  vestibule,  where  she  could  weep  at  her 
ease. 


XIII. 

After  that  Nekhlyudov  did  not  see  Katyusha  for  three 
years.  And  he  saw  her  only  when,  having  been  promoted 
to  the  rank  of  a  commissioned  officer,  he,  on  his  way  to  join 
the  army,  came  to  see  his  aunts ;  he  was  then  a  different 
man  from  what  he  had  been  three  years  before. 

At  that  time  he  had  been  an  honest,  self-sacrificing 
youth,  ready  to  devote  himself  to  any  good  cause ;  but 
now  he  was  a  dissolute,  refined  egotist,  who  loved  only 
his  own  enjoyment.  Then,  God's  world  had  presented 
itself  to  him  as  a  mystery,  which  he  had  joyfully  and 
rapturously  tried  to  solve ;  but  now,  in  his  new  life, 
everything  was  simple  and  clear,  and  was  defined  by 
those  conditions  of  life  in  which  he  happened  to  be. 
Then,  he  had  regarded  as  necessary  and  important  a  com- 
munion with  Nature  and  with  men  who  had  lived, 
thought,  and  felt  before  him  (philosophy,  poetry) ;  now 
human  institutions  and  communion  with  comrades  were 
the  necessary  and  important  things.  Then,  woman  had 
presented  herself  to  him  as  a  mysterious  and  enchanting 
creature,  —  enchanting  by  dint  of  her  very  mysterious- 
ness;  now,  the  significance  of  woman,  of  every  woman, 
except  such  as  were  of  his  family,  or  the  wives  of  his 
friends,  was  quite  definite;  woman  was  one  of  the  best 
instruments  of  tasted  enjoyment.  Then,  money  had  not 
been  needed,  and  one-third  of  the  money  offered  him  by 
his  mother  had  sufficed,  and  it  had  been  possible  to  re- 
nounce the  land  left  him  by  his  father  in  favour  of  his 
peasants ;  now,  the  fifteen  hundred  roubles  granted  him 
every  month  by  his  mother  were  not  enough,  and  he  had 

70 


RESURRECTION  71 

had  some  unpleasant  encounters  with  her  on  account  of 
money.  Then,  he  had  regarded  his  spiritual  being  as  his 
real  ego ;  now,  he  regarded  his  healthy,  virile,  animal  ego 
as  his  actual  personality. 

All  this  terrible  change  had  taken  place  in  him  only 
because  he  had  quit  believing  himself,  and  had  begun  to 
believe  others.  The  reason  he  had  quit  believing  himself 
and  had  begun  believing  others  was  because  he  had  found 
it  hard  to  live  by  beUeving  himself :  while  believing  him- 
self, every  question  had  to  be  solved  not  in  favour  of  his 
own  animal  ego,  in  search  of  frivolous  enjoyments,  but 
nearly  always  against  himself ;  whereas  beheving  others, 
there  was  nothing  to  solve,  —  everything  had  been  solved 
before,  and  not  in  favour  of  the  spiritual,  but  of  the 
animal  ego.  More  than  that :  while  he  believed  himself, 
he  was  constantly  subjected  to  the  judgment  of  others ; 
while  beheving  others,  he  met  the  approval  of  those  who 
surrounded  him. 

Formerly,  when  Nekhlyiidov  had  been  thinking,  read- 
ing, and  speaking  about  God,  about  truth,  about  wealth, 
about  poverty,  —  all  his  neighbours  had  considered  this 
out  of  place  and  even  ridiculous,  and  his  mother  and  his 
'aunt  had  called  him  "  iiotre  cher  philosophe  "  with  good- 
natured  irony ;  but  when  he  read  novels,  told  nasty 
anecdotes,  drove  to  the  French  theatre  to  witness  ridicu- 
lous vaudevilles,  and  mirthfully  narrated  them,  he  was 
praised  and  applauded  by  everybody.  When  he  had 
regarded  it  as  necessary  to  limit  his  needs,  and  had  worn 
an  old  overcoat,  everybody  had  considered  this  an  odd 
and  boastful  originahty ;  but  when  he  spent  large  sums 
on  the  chase,  or  on  the  appointments  of  his  extremely 
luxurious  cabinet,  everybody  praised  his  good  taste  and 
presented  costly  things  to  him.  When  he  had  been 
chaste  and  had  intended  to  remain  so  until  his  marriage, 
his  relatives  had  been  afraid  for  his  health,  and  even  his 
mother  was  not  grieved,  but,  on  the  contrary,  rejoiced. 


72  EESURRECTION 

when  she  heard  that  he  was  a  real  man  and  had  won  a 
certain  French  woman  away  from  his  comrade.  But  the 
princess  could  not  think  without  horror  of  the  incident 
with  Katyusha,  —  namely,  that  it  might  have  occurred  to 
him  to  marry  her. 

Similarly,  when  Nekhlyiidov,  upon  having  reached  his 
majority,  had  given  away  to  the  peasants  the  small  estate 
inherited  from  his  father,  because  he  had  considered  the 
ownership  of  land  to  be  an  injustice,  this  deed  of  his 
had  horrified  his  mother  and  his  relatives  and  formed  a 
constant  subject  of  reproach  and  ridicule  for  all  his  kin. 
They  never  stopped  telling  him  that  the  peasants  who 
had  received  the  land  had  not  only  not  become  any 
richer,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  had  been  impover- 
ished, through  the  establishment  of  three  dram-shops  and 
from  their  cessation  from  work.  But  when  Nekhlyiidov, 
upon  entering  the  Guards,  had  gambled  away  so  much 
money  in  the  company  of  distinguished  comrades  that 
El^ua  Ivanovna  was  compelled  to  draw  money  away 
from  the  capital,  she  was  hardly  grieved,  for  she  con- 
sidered it  to  be  natural  and  even  good  to  have  this  virus 
inoculated  early  in  youth  and  in  good  society. 

At  first  Nekhlyiidov  had  struggled,  but  it  was  a  hard 
struggle,  because  everything  which  he  had  considered 
good,  while  beheving  himself,  was  regarded  as  bad  by 
others,  and,  vice  versa,  everything  which  he,  believing 
himself,  had  regarded  as  bad,  was  considered  good  by  all 
the  people  who  surrounded  him.  The  end  of  it  was  that 
Nekhlyiidov  succumbed,  ceased  believing  himself,  and  be- 
gan to  believe  others.  At  first  this  renunciation  of  self 
had  been  unpleasant,  but  this  disagreeable  sensation  lasted 
a  very  short  time,  and  soon  Nekhlyiidov,  who  in  the 
meantime  had  begun  to  smoke  and  drink  wine,  no  longer 
experienced  this  heavy  sensation,  but  rather  a  great 
relief. 

Nekhlyudov  surrendered  himself,  with  all  the  passion 


RESURRECTION  73 

of  his  nature,  to  this  new  life,  which  was  approved  by  all 
his  neighbours,  and  drowned  that  voice  in  himself  that 
demanded  something  quite  different.  This  had  begun 
after  his  arrival  in  St.  Petersburg  and  was  an  accom- 
plished fact  after  he  had  entered  upon  his  military  service. 

Mihtary  service  in  general  corrupts  people  by  putting 
the  military  men  into  a  condition  of  complete  indolence, 
that  is,  by  giving  them  no  intelligent  and  useful  work  to 
do,  and  by  liberating  them  from  common  human  obliga- 
tions, in  place  of  which  it  substitutes  the  conventional 
honour  of  army,  uniform,  and  flag,  and  by  investing  them, 
on  the  one  hand,  with  an  unlimited  power  over  other 
people,  and,  on  the  other,  by  subjecting  them  to  servile 
humility  before  their  superiors. 

But  when  to  this  corruption  of  the  military  service  in 
general,  with  its  honour  of  the  army  and  flag,  and  its 
legalization  of  violence  and  murder,  is  added  the  seduc- 
tion of  wealth  and  the  communion  with  the  imperial 
family,  as  is  the  case  in  the  select  regiments  of  the  Guards, 
in  which  only  rich  and  aristocratic  ofiicers  serve,  this  cor- 
ruption reaches  in  people  who  are  under  its  influence  a 
condition  of  absolute  insanity  of  egotism.  It  was  in  such 
an  insanity  of  egotism  that  Nekhlyildov  was  from  the 
time  when  he  entered  the  military  service  and  began  to 
live  in  the  manner  of  his  comrades. 

There  was  no  other  work  to  do  but  to  put  on  a  uniform 
which  had  been  beautifully  made  and  brushed,  not  by 
himself,  but  by  others,  and  a  helmet  and  weapons,  which 
had  also  been  made  and  burnished  and  handed  to  him  by 
others ;  to  ride  on  a  beautiful  charger,  which  somebody 
else  had  brought  up,  exercised,  and  groomed ;  to  go  thus 
to  instruction  or  to  parade,  with  people  similarly  ac- 
coutred, and  to  gallop,  and  sway  his  sword,  to  shoot,  and 
teach  others  to  shoot.  There  was  no  other  occupation, 
and  distinguished  dignitaries,  young  and  old  men,  and 
the  Tsar  and  his  suite,  not  only  approved  of  this  occupa- 


74  RESURRECTION 

tion,  but  even  praised  and  rewarded  it.  In  addition  to 
this,  it  was  regarded  good  and  proper  to  squander  the 
money,  which  came  from  one  knew  not  where,  to  come 
together  in  the  clubs  of  the  officers  or  in  the  most  expen- 
sive restaurants  to  eat,  or,  more  particularly,  to  drink ; 
then  to  the  theatre,  to  balls,  and  to  women,  and  then 
again  riding,  swaymg  of  sabres,  galloping,  and  squander- 
ing of  money,  and  wine,  cards,  and  women. 

Such  a  life  has  a  peculiarly  corrupting  influence  upon 
the  mihtary,  because  if  any  man,  not  belonging  to  the 
army,  should  lead  such  an  existence,  he  could  not  help 
feeling  ashamed  of  it  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  But 
mihtary  people  think  that  it  cannot  be  otherwise,  and 
brag  and  are  proud  of  such  a  life,  particularly  during  war 
time,  just  as  had  been  the  case  with  Nekhlyudov,  who 
had  entered  the  army  immediately  after  the  declaration 
of  the  war  with  Turkey.  "  We  are  ready  to  sacrifice  our 
lives  in  war,  and  therefore  such  a  careless,  gay  life  is  not 
only  permissible,  but  even  necessary  for  us.  And  we  do 
live  such  a  life." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  Kekhlyudov  dimly 
thought  during  that  period  of  his  life ;  he  experienced 
during  that  time  the  rapture  of  liberation  from  moral 
barriers,  which  he  had  erected  for  himself  before,  and  he 
continuously  remained  in  a  chronic  state  of  egotistical 
insanity. 

He  was  in  that  condition  when,  three  years  later,  he 
visited  his  aunts. 


XIV. 

Nekhlyudov  made  a  call  upon  his  aunts  because  their 
estate  was  on  the  way  to  the  regiment,  which  was  in 
advance  of  liim,  and  because  they  had  earnestly  requested 
it,  and,  chiefly,  in  order  to  see  Katyusha.  It  may  be 
that  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  there  was  already  an  evil 
intention  in  regard  to  Katyusha,  which  his  unfettered 
animal  man  kept  whispering  to  him,  but  he  was  not  con- 
scious of  this  intention,  and  simply  wanted  to  visit  the 
places  where  he  had  been  so  happy  before,  and  to  see 
the  somewhat  funny,  but  dear  and  good-hearted  aunts, 
who  always  surrounded  him  with  an  invisible  atmosphere 
of  love  and  transport,  and  to  look  at  dear  Katyusha,  of 
whom  he  had  such  an  agreeable  recollection. 

He  arrived  at  the  end  of  March,  on  Good  Friday, 
while  the  roads  were  exceedingly  bad  and  the  rain  came 
down  in  sheets,  so  that  he  was  wet  to  his  skin  and 
chilled,  but  brisk  and  wide  awake,  as  he  always  was 
during  that  time.  "  I  wonder  whether  she  is  still  here  ! " 
he  thought,  as  he  drove  into  the  snow-covered  old  coun- 
try courtyard  with  its  brick  wall.  He  had  expected  her 
to  come  running  out  on  the  porch  upon  hearing  the  tin- 
kling of  his  bell,  but  on  the  servants'  porch  there  came 
out  only  two  barefooted  old  women  with  their  dresses 
tucked  up  and  buckets  in  their  hands.  They  were  evi- 
dently busy  washing  floors.  Nor  was  she  at  the  main 
entrance ;  none  came  out  but  lackey  Tikhon,  in  an  apron, 
who,  no  doubt,  was  also  busy  cleaning  up.  In  the  ante- 
chamber he  met  Sofya  Ivanovna,  in  a  silk  dress  and  a 
cap,  who  had  come  out  to  meet  him. 

75 


76  EESUKKECTION 

"  Now,  it  is  nice  that  you  have  come ! "  said  Sdfya 
Ivanovna,  kissing  him,  "  Mariya  is  a  httle  Ul ;  she  was 
tired  out  in  church.     We  have  been  to  communion." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Aunt  Sofya,"  said  Nekhlyudov, 
kissing  Sdfya  Ivanovna's  hands.  "  Forgive  me  for  having 
wet  you." 

"  Go  to  your  room.  You  are  dreadfully  wet.  I  see 
you  now  have  a  moustache  —  Katyusha  !  Katyusha  ! 
Quick,  get  him  some  coffee." 

"  Right  away  !  "  was  heard  the  familiar,  pleasant  voice 
from  the  corridor.  Nekhlyudov's  heart  gave  a  joyful 
leap. 

"  She  is  here ! "  And  he  felt  as  though  the  sun  had 
come  out  from  behind  the  clouds.  Nekhlyudov  merrily 
followed  Tikhon  to  his  old  room  to  change  his  clothes. 

Nekhlyudov  wanted  to  ask  Tikhon  about  Katyusha  — 
how  she  was,  and  whether  she  was  going  to  marry  soon. 
But  Tikhon  was  so  respectful  and,  at  the  same  time,  so 
stern,  and  so  firndy  insisted  upon  pouring  water  from  the 
pitcher  upon  Nekhlyudov's  hands,  that  he  did  not  have 
the  courage  to  ask  him  about  Katyusha,  and  inquired 
only  about  his  grandchildren,  about  the  old  stallion,  and 
about  the  watch-dog,  Polkau.  All  were  well  and  hale, 
except  Polkan,  who  had  gotten  the  hydrophobia  the  year 
before. 

He  had  barely  thrown  off  his  damp  clothes,  and  was 
dressing  himself,  when  he  heard  hurried  steps,  and  some- 
body knocked  at  the  door.  Nekhlyudov  recognized  the 
steps  and  the  knock  at  the  door.  Nobody  walked  or 
knocked  that  way  but  she. 

He  threw  over  him  his  damp  overcoat,  and  went  up  to 
the  door. 

"  Come  in  ! " 

It  was  she,  Katyusha.  The  same  Katyusha,  only  more 
charming  than  before.  Her  smiling,  naive,  slightly  squint- 
ing, black  eyes  were  as  upturned  as  before.     She  wore,  as 


KESURRECTION  77 

formerly,  a  clean  white  apron.  She  brought  from  his 
aunts  a  cake  of  scented  soap,  fresh  from  the  wrapper,  aud 
two  towels,  one  a  large  Eussian  towel,  and  the  other  a 
towel  of  a  rough  texture.  The  untouched  soap,  with  the 
letters  distinctly  marked  upon  it,  aud  the  towels,  and  she 
herself,  —  everything  was  equally  clean,  fresh,  untouched, 
agreeable.  Her  sweet,  firm,  red  lips  pursed  as  before  from 
uncontrollable  joy,  when  she  beheld  him. 

"I  greet  you  upon  your  arrival,  Dmitri  Ivanovich!" 
she  uttered  with  difficulty,  and  her  face  was  all  covered 
with  a  blush. 

"  I  greet  thee  —  you,"  he  did  not  know  whether  to  say 
"  thou "  or  "  you  "  to  her,  and  he  blushed,  just  like  her. 
"  Are  you  alive  and  well  ? " 

"  Thank  God.  Your  aunt  has  sent  you  your  favour- 
ite rose-scented  soap,"  placing  the  soap  on  the  table,  and 
the  towels  over  the  back  of  an  armchair. 

"  He  has  his  own,"  said  Tikhon,  defending  his  guest's 
independence,  and  pointing  proudly  at  Nekhlyiidov's  large 
open  toilet  bag,  with  its  silver  lids  and  an  immense  mass 
of  bottles,  brushes,  pomatums,  perfumes,  and  all  kinds  of 
toilet  articles. 

"  Thank  aunty  for  me.  I  am  so  glad  I  have  come," 
said  Nekhlyiidov,  feeling  that  there  was  the  same  light 
and  gentleness  in  his  heart  that  used  to  be  there  in  former 
days. 

She  only  smiled  in  return  to  these  words,  and  went 
out. 

His  aunts,  who  had  always  loved  Nekhlyiidov,  this 
time  met  him  with  even  greater  expressions  of  joy  than 
usual.  Dmitri  was  going  to  the  war,  where  he  might  be 
wounded,  or  killed.     This  touched  his  aunts. 

Nekhlyiidov  had  so  arranged  his  journey  as  to  be  able 
to  pass  but  one  day  with  his  aunts;  but,  upon  seeing 
Katyiisha,  he  consented  to  stay  until  past  Easter  which 
was  to  be  in  two  days,  and  so  he  telegraphed  to  his 


78  RESURRECTION 

friend  and  comrade  Sh^nbok,  whom  he  was  to  have  met 
at  Odessa,  to  have  him  also  stop  at  his  aunts'.  Nekhlyiidov 
felt  the  old  feeling  toward  Katyusha,  from  the  first  day 
he  saw  her.  Just  as  formerly,  he  was  not  able  even 
now  to  see  with  equanimity  Katyusha's  white  apron,  nor 
to  restrain  a  paug  of  joy  when  he  heard  her  steps,  her 
voice,  her  laugh,  nor  without  a  soothing  sensation  to 
look  into  her  eyes,  which  were  as  black  as  moist  black- 
berries, especially  when  she  smiled,  nor,  above  all,  could 
he  help  seeing  with  embarrassment  that  she  blushed  every 
time  she  met  him.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  love,  but  not 
as  formerly,  when  tliis  love  had  been  a  mystery  to  liim 
and  he  did  not  dare  acknowledge  that  he  was  in  love,  and 
when  he  had  been  convinced  that  it  was  not  possible  to 
love  more  than  once ;  now  he  was  consciously  in  love,  and 
he  was  glad  of  it ;  he  had  a  dim  idea  what  this  love  was, 
though  he  concealed  it  from  himself,  and  what  might 
come  of  it. 

In  Nekhlyiidov,  as  in  all  people,  there  were  two  men  ; 
one  the  spiritual  man,  who  sought  his  well-being  in  such 
matters  only  as  could  at  the  same  time  do  other  people 
some  good,  and  the  other  the  animal  man,  who  was  look- 
ing out  only  for  his  own  well-being,  ready  for  it  to  sacri- 
fice the  well-being  of  the  whole  world.  During  that 
period  of  his  insanity  of  egotism,  induced  by  his  Peters- 
burgian  and  military  life,  the  animal  man  was  ruling 
within  him,  and  had  completely  suppressed  the  spiritual 
man.  But,  upon  seeing  Katyusha  and  becoming  actuated 
by  the  same  feeling  which  he  had  had  for  her  before,  the 
spiritual  man  raised  his  head,  and  began  to  assert  his 
rights.  During  the  two  days  preceding  Easter  an  internal 
struggle,  though  unconscious  on  his  part,  agitated  him 
incessantly. 

In  the  depth  of  his  soul  he  knew  that  he  ought  to 
depart,  that  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  stay 
at  his  aunts'  any  longer,  and  that  nothing  good  would 


KESUKRECTION  79 

come  of  it ;  but  he  experienced  such  an  agreeable  and 
joyful  sensation  that  he  did  not  speak  of  it  to  himself, 
and  remained. 

On  the  Saturday  evening  preceding  Easter  Sunday,  the 
priest,  with  the  deacon  and  the  sexton,  having  with  diffi- 
culty journeyed  in  a  sleigh  over  puddles  and  dirt  in  order 
to  make  the  three  verstc  which  separated  the  church  from 
the  house  of  his  aunts,  arrived  to  serve  the  matins. 

During  the  matins,  which  were  attended  by  Nekhlyiidov, 
his  aunts,  and  the  servants,  he  did  not  take  his  eyes 
from  Katyusha,  who  was  standing  at  the  door  and  bring- 
ing the  censers ;  then  he  gave  the  Easter  kiss  to  the  priest 
and  his  aunts,  and  was  on  the  point  of  retiring,  when  he 
saw  in  the  corridor  Matr^ua  Pavlovna,  Mariya  Ivanovna's 
old  chambermaid,  and  Katyusha  getting  ready  to  drive  to 
church,  in  order  to  get  the  bread  and  Easter  cakes  blessed. 
"  I  will  go  with  them,"  he  thought. 

The  road  to  the  church  was  passable  neither  for  wheel 
carriages,  nor  for  sleighs,  and  so  Nekhlyudov,  who  ordered 
things  at  his  aunts'  as  though  he  were  at  home,  told  them 
to  saddle  the  riding  stallion  for  him,  and,  instead  of  going 
to  bed,  dressed  himself  in  his  gorgeous  uniform  with  the 
tightly  fitting  riding  pantaloons,  threw  his  overcoat  over  his 
shoulders,  and  rode  on  the  overfed,  stout  old  stallion,  that 
did  not  stop  neighing,  in  the  darkness,  through  puddles 
and  snow,  to  church. 


XV. 

I 

This  matin  then  remained  during  Nekhlyiidov's  whole 
life  as  one  of  his  brightest  and  strongest  memories. 

The  service  had  already  begun,  when,  having  groped 
through  the  dense  darkness,  lighted  up  occasionally  by 
patches  of  snow,  and  having  splashed  through  the  water, 
he  rode  into  the  yard  of  the  church  on  the  stallion,  that 
kept  pricking  his  ears  at  the  sight  of  the  little  street- 
lamps  that  were  burning  all  around  the  church. 

Having  recognized  Mariya  Ivanovna's  nephew,  the 
peasants  took  him  to  a  dry  place,  where  he  could  dis- 
mount, tied  his  horse,  and  led  him  into  the  church.  The 
church  was  full  of  people  celebrating  the  holiday. 

On  the  right  were  the  old  men,  in  home-made  caftans 
and  bast  shoes  and  clean  wliite  leg-rags,  and  the  young 
men,  in  new  cloth  caftans,  girded  with  brightly  coloured 
belts,  and  in  boots.  On  the  left  were  the  women,  in 
bright  silk  kerchiefs,  plush  vests,  with  brilliant  red 
sleeves  and  blue,  green,  red,  and  variegated  skirts,  and 
small  boots  with  steel  heel-plates.  The  modest  old  women, 
in  white  kerchiefs,  gray  caftans,  old  skirts,  and  leather  or 
new  bast  shoes,  were  standing  back  of  them.  Here  and 
there,  on  both  sides,  stood  the  dressed-up  children,  with 
oily  heads.  The  peasants  were  crossing  themselves  and 
bowing,  tossing  their  heads ;  the  women,  especially  the 
old  women,  riveting  their  faded  eyes  upon  one  image 
with  its  tapers,  firmly  pressed  tlieir  joined  fingers  against 
the  kerchief,  the  shoulders,  and  the  abdomen,  and,  saying 
something  under  their  breath,  were  standing  and  making 

80 


RESURRECTION  81 

low  obeisances,  or  were  kneeling.  The  children  imitated 
their  elders,  and  prayed  attentively,  as  long  as  they  were 
watched.  The  golden  iconostasis  was  resplendent  from  the 
tapers  that  on  all  sides  surrounded  the  large  gilt  candles. 
The  candelabrum  was  aglow  with  its  candles ;  from  the 
choir  were  heard  the  joyous  voices  of  the  amateur 
choristers,  with  the  roaring  basses,  and  the  descants  of 
the  boys. 

Nekhlyiidov  went  to  the  front.  In  the  middle  stood 
the  aristocracy :  a  landed  proprietor,  with  his  wife  and 
his  son  in  a  sailor  blouse,  the  country  judge,  the  tele- 
graphist, a  merchant  in  boots  with  smooth  boot-legs, 
the  village  elder  with  a  decoration,  and  to  the  right  of  the 
ambo,  back  of  the  proprietress,  Matrena  Pavlovna,  in  a 
short  lilac  dress  and  white  fringed  shawl,  and  Katyusha, 
in  a  white  dress  with  tucks,  blue  belt,  and  red  ribbon  on 
her  black  hair. 

Everything  was  holiday-like,  solemn,  cheerful,  and 
beautiful:  the  priests  in  their  bright  silver  vestments, 
with  their  golden  crosses,  and  the  deacon  and  sextons  in 
their  gala  silver  and  gold  copes,  and  the  dressed-up  ama- 
teur choristers,  with  their  oily  hair,  and  the  gay  dancing 
tunes  of  the  holiday  songs,  and  the  continuous  bless- 
ing of  the  people  by  the  clergy  with  their  triple,  flower- 
bedecked  candles,  with  the  ever  repeated  exclamations, 
"  Christ  is  arisen  !  Christ  is  arisen  !  "  —  everything  was 
beautiful,  but  better  than  all  was  Katyusha,  in  her  white 
dress  and  blue  belt,  with  the  red  ribbon  on  her  head,  and 
with  her  sparkling,  rapturous  eyes. 

Nekhlyiidov  was  conscious  of  her  seeing  him,  though 
she  did  not  turn  around.  He  noticed  that  as  he  passed 
by  her,  up  to  the  altar.  He  had  nothing  to  say  to  her, 
but  he  made  up  something  and  said,  when  abreast  of  her : 

"  Aunty  said  that  she  would  break  her  fast  after  the 
late  mass." 

Her  young  blood,  as  always  at  the  sight  of  him,  flushed 


82  RESURRECTION 

her  sweet  face,  and  her  black  eyes,  smiling  and  rejoicing, 
looked  naively  upwards  and  rested  on  Nekhlyudov. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  smiling. 

Just  then  a  sexton,  with  a  brass  coffee-pot,  making  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  came  past  Katyusha,  and  without 
looking  at  her,  caught  the  skirt  of  his  cope  in  her  dress. 
The  sexton  had  done  so  evidently  in  his  attempt  to 
express  his  respect  for  Nekhlyudov  by  making  a  circle 
around  him.  Nekhlyudov  could  not  understand  how  it 
was  this  sexton  did  not  comprehend  that  everything  that 
was  there,  or  anywhere  else  in  the  world,  existed  only  for 
Katyusha,  and  that  one  could  disregard  anything  else  in 
the  world  but  her,  because  she  was  the  centre  of  every- 
thing. For  her  gleamed  the  gold  of  the  iconostasis,  and 
burnt  all  these  candles  in  the  candelabrum  and  in  the 
candlesticks  ;  for  her  were  the  joyous  refrains,  "  The  Easter 
of  the  Lord,  rejoice,  0  people ! "  Everything  good  that 
was  in  the  world  was  only  for  her.  And  Katyusha  under- 
stood, so  he  thought,  that  it  was  all  for  her.  So  it  seemed 
to  Nekhlyudov,  as  he  looked  at  her  stately  form  in  the 
white  dress  with  its  tucks,  and  upon  her  concentrated, 
joyful  countenance,  by  the  expression  of  which  he  could 
see  that  the  same  that  was  singing  in  his  heart  was  sing- 
ing also  in  hers. 

In  the  interval  between  the  early  and  late  mass,  Nekh- 
lyudov went  out  of  the  church.  The  people  stepped 
aside  before  him  and  bowed.  Some  recognized  him,  and 
some  asked,  "  Who  is  he  ? "  He  stopped  at  the  door. 
Mendicants  surrounded  him :  he  distributed  the  small 
change  which  he  had  in  his  purse,  and  walked  down  the 
steps  of  the  entrance. 

It  was  now  sufficiently  light  to  distinguish  objects,  but 
the  sun  was  not  yet  up.  The  people  were  seated  on  the 
churchyard  mounds.  Katyusha  had  remained  in  the 
church,  and  Nekhlyudov  stopped,  waiting  for  her  to  come 
out. 


RESURRECTION  83 

The  people  still  kept  coming  out,  and,  clattering  with 
their  hobnails  on  the  flagstones,  walked  down  the  steps 
and  scattered  in  the  yard  and  cemetery, 

A  decrepit  old  man,  Marya  Ivanovna's  pastry-baker, 
with  trembling  head,  stopped  Nekhlyudov,  to  give  him 
the  Easter  greeting,  and  his  old  wife,  with  wrinkled  neck 
beneath  her  silk  kerchief,  took  out  of  a  handkerchief  a 
saffron-yellow  egg,  and  gave  it  to  him.  Then  also  came 
up  a  young,  muscular  peasant,  in  a  new  sleeveless  coat 
and  green  belt. 

"  Christ  is  arisen  ! "  he  said,  with  laughing  eyes,  and, 
moving  up  toward  Nekhlyudov,  wafted  an  agreeable 
peasant  odour  upon  him  and,  tickling  him  with  his  curly 
beard,  three  times  kissed  him  in  the  middle  of  his  mouth 
with  his  own  strong,  fresh  lips. 

While  Nekhlyudov  was  kissing  the  peasant  and  receiv- 
ing from  him  a  dark  brown  egg,  there  appeared  the  shot 
dress  of  Matr^na  Pavlovna,  and  the  sweet  black  head 
with  the  red  ribbon. 

She  espied  him  above  the  heads  of  those  who  were 
walking  in  front  of  her,  and  he  saw  her  countenance 
gleaming  with  joy. 

Matr(5na  Pavlovna  and  Katyusha  stopped  before  the 
door,  to  give  alms  to  the  mendicants.  A  beggar,  with  a 
healed-over  scar  in  place  of  a  nose,  went  up  to  Katyusha. 
She  took  something  out  of  her  handkerchief,  gave  it  to 
him,  and,  without  expressing  the  least  disgust,  — -  on  the 
contrary,  with  the  same  joyful  sparkle  in  her  eyes, — 
kissed  him  three  times.  While  she  was  giving  the  beggar 
the  Easter  kiss,  her  eyes  met  Nekhlyiidov's  glance.  Her 
eyes  seemed  to  ask  :  "  Am  I  doing  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  everything  is  good,  everything  is 
beautiful,  I  love  it." 

They  walked  down  the  steps,  and  he  walked  over  to 
her.  He  did  not  mean  to  exchange  the  Easter  kiss  with 
her,  but  only  to  be  in  her  neighbourhood. 


84  RESURRECTION 

"  Christ  is  arisen !  "  said  Matr^na  Pavlovna,  bending 
her  head  and  smiling,  with  an  intonation  which  said  that 
on  that  day  all  were  equal,  and,  wiping  her  mouth  with 
her  rolled  up  handkerchief,  offered  him  her  lips. 

"  Verily,"  replied  Nekhlyiidov,  kissing  her. 

He  looked  around  for  Katyusha.  She  burst  into  a 
blush,  and  immediately  v/ent  up  to  him. 

"  Christ  is  arisen,  Dmitri  Ivanovich  ! " 

"  Verily  He  arose,"  he  said.  They  kissed  twice  and 
stopped,  as  though  considering  whether  it  was  necessary 
to  proceed,  and  having  decided  in  the  affirmative,  kissed 
for  the  third  time,  and  both  smiled. 

"  You  will  not  go  to  the  priest  ? "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  No,  Dmitri  Ivanovich,  we  shall  stay  here,"  said 
Katyusha,  breathing  with  her  full  breast,  as  though  after 
a  labour  of  joy,  and  looking  straight  at  him  with  her 
submissive,  chaste,  loving,  slightly  squinting  eyes. 

In  the  love  between  a  man  and  a  woman  there  is 
always  a  minute  when  that  love  reaches  its  zenith,  when 
consciousness,  reason,  and  feeling  are  dormant.  Such  a 
moment  was  for  Nekhlyiidov  the  night  preceding  Easter 
Sunday.  As  he  now  recalled  Katyusha,  this  moment 
alone,  of  all  the  situations  in  which  he  had  seen  her, 
loomed  up  and  effaced  all  the  others :  her  black,  smooth, 
shining  little  head,  her  white  dress  with  the  tucks,  chastely 
embracing  her  stately  figure  and  small  bosom,  and  that 
blush,  and  those  tender,  sparkling  eyes,  and  in  her  whole 
being  two  main  characteristics,  —  the  purity  of  the  chastity 
of  love,  not  only  toward  him,  he  knew  that,  but  of  her 
love  for  all  and  everything,  not  only  for  the  good  that 
there  was  in  the  world,  but  even  for  the  beggar,  whom 
she  had  kissed. 

He  knew  that  she  had  that  love,  because  he  was 
conscious  of  it  on  that  night  and  on  that  morning,  as 
he  was  conscious  that  in  that  love  he  became  one  with 
her. 


RESUKRECTION  85 

Ah,  if  all  that  had  stopped  at  the  feeling  which  he  had 
experienced  that  night !  "  Yes,  all  that  terrible  work  was 
done  after  that  night  of  Easter  Sunday  !  "  he  now  thought, 
sitting  at  the  window  in  the  jury-room. 


XVI. 

After  returning  from  churcli,  Nekhlyiidov  broke  his 
fast  with  his  aunts,  and,  to  brace  himself,  followed  the 
habit  which  he  had  acquired  in  the  army,  and  drank 
some  brandy  and  wine,  and  went  to  his  room,  where  he 
fell  asleep  in  his  clothes.  He  was  awakened  by  a  knock 
at  the  door.  He  knew  by  the  knock  that  it  was  she.  He 
arose,  rubbing  his  eyes  and  stretching  himself. 

"  Katyusha,  is  it  you  ?    Come  in,"  he  said,  rising.    • 

She  half-opened  the  door. 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  she  said. 

She  was  in  the  same  white  dress,  but  without  the 
ribbon  in  her  hair.  As  she  glanced  into  his  eyes,  she 
beamed,  as  though  she  had  announced  something  very 
joyful  to  him. 

"  I  shall  be  there  at  once,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  comb 
to  smooth  his  hair. 

She  lagged  behind  for  a  minute.  He  noticed  it  and, 
throwing  away  the  comb,  moved  toward  her.  But  she 
immediately  turned  around  and  walked  with  her  custom- 
ary light,  rapid  gait  over  the  corridor  carpet-strip. 

"What  a  fool  I  am!"  Nekhlyildov  said  to  himself, 
"  Why  did  I  not  keep  her  ?  " 

And  he  ran  at  full  speed  after  her  through  the  corridor. 

He  did  not  know  himself  what  it  was  he  wanted  of  her ; 
but  it  seemed  to  him  that  when  she  had  entered  his  room, 
he  ought  to  have  done  what  everybody  does  under  such 
circumstances,  and  he  had  failed  to  do. 
"  Katyusha,  wait,"  he  said. 

86 


RESURRECTION  87 

She  looked  back. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ? "  she  said,  stopping. 

"  Nothing,  only  —  " 

And  making  an  effort  over  himself,  and  recalling  how 
other  men  would  do  in  his  situation,  he  put  his  arm 
around  Katyusha's  waist. 

She  stopped  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"  Don't  do  that,  Dmitri  Ivanovich,  —  don't  do  that," 
she  muttered,  blushing  and  with  tears,  and  with  her 
rough,  strong  hand  pushed  away  the  embracing  arm. 

Nekhlyiidov  let  her  go,  and  for  a  moment  felt' not  only 
uneasy  and  ashamed,  but  disgusted  with  himself.  He 
ought  to  have  beheved  himself,  but  he  did  not  understand 
that  this  uneasiness  and  shame  were  the  best  qualities  of 
his  soul  begging  to  be  freed,  whereas  he,  on  the  contrary, 
thought  that  it  was  his  stupidity  that  was  speaking  within 
him,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  do  as  everybody  else 
did. 

He  caught  up  with  her  a  second  time,  again  embraced 
her,  and  kissed  her  on  the  neck.  This  kiss  was  not  at  all 
like  those  first  two  kisses :  the  first,  the  unconscious  kiss 
behind  the  lilac  bush,  and  the  other,  in  the  morning,  at 
church.     This  kiss  was  terrible,  and  she  felt  it. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ? "  she  cried,  in  such  a  voice  as 
though  he  had  irretrievably  broken  something  endlessly 
valuable,  and  ran  away  from  him  at  full  speed. 

He  arrived  in  the  dining-room.  The  dressed-up  aunts, 
the  doctor,  and  a  lady  from  the  neighbourhood  were  stand- 
ing near  the  appetizer.  Everything  was  as  usual,  but  in 
Nekhlyudov's  soul  there  was  a  storm.  He  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  of  what  was  said  to  him,  answered  to  ques- 
tions at  haphazard,  and  only  thought  of  Katyusha,  recalling 
the  sensation  of  that  last  kiss,  w^hen  he  had  caught  up 
with  her  in  the  corridor.  He  was  not  able  to  think  of 
anything  else.  Whenever  she  entered  the  room,  he, 
without  looking  at  her,  was  with  all  his  being  conscious 


88  RESURRECTION 

of  her  presence,  and  had  to  make  an  effort  over  himself 
in  order  not  to  gaze  at  her. 

After  dinner  he  at  once  went  back  to  his  room,  and 
long  paced  up  and  down  in  the  greatest  agitation,  listen- 
ing to  all  the  sounds  in  the  house,  and  waiting  to  hear 
her  steps.  The  animal  man  which  was  dwelling  within 
him  not  only  raised  his  head,  hut  had  trampled  underfoot 
the  spiritual  man  which  he  had  been  during  his  first  visit, 
and  even  on  that  morning  while  at  church ;  and  now  that 
terrible  animal  man  ruled  all  alone  in  his  soul.  Though 
Nekhlyiidov  lay  all  the  time  in  watch  for  Katyusha,  he 
did  not  succeed  once  during  that  day  in  seeing  her  alone. 
She  obviously  avoided  him.  But  in  the  evening  it  so 
happened  that  she  had  to  go  into  the  room  adjoining  the 
one  which  he  occupied.  The  doctor  was  to  remain  over- 
night, and  Katyusha  had  to  make  the  bed  for  him.  Hear- 
ing her  steps,  Nekhlyiidov,  stepping  lightly  and  holding 
his  breath,  as  though  getting  ready  to  commit  a  crime, 
walked  up  behind  her. 

Having  put  both  her  hands  into  a  pillow-sHp  and  hold- 
ing the  comers  of  a  pillow,  she  looked  back  at  him  and 
smiled,  not  a  gay  and  joyful  smile,  but  one  expressive  of 
fear  and  pity.  This  smile  seemed  to  tell  him  that  that 
which  he  was  doing  was  bad.  He  stopped  for  a  moment. 
A  struggle  was  still  possible.  Though  feebly,  the  voice 
of  genuine  love  was  still  audible  in  him,  which  told  him  of 
her,  of  her  feelings,  of  her  life,  but  another  voice  kept  say- 
ing to  him,  "  Look  out,  or  you  will  lose  your  enjoyment, 
your  happiness."  And  this  second  voice  drowned  the 
first.  He  went  up  to  her  with  firmness.  And  a  terrible, 
uncontrollable,  animal  feeling  took  possession  of  him. 

Without  letting  her  out  of  his  embrace,  Nekhlyiidov 
seated  her  on  the  bed,  and,  feeling  that  something  else 
had  to  be  done,  sat  down  near  her. 

"  Dmitri  Ivanovich,  my  dear,  please  let  me  go,"  she  said, 
in  a  pitiful  voice.     "  Matr^na  Pavlovna  is  coming !  "  she 


EESURKECTION  89 

cried,  tearing  herself  away ;  there  was,  really,  some  one 
coming  toward  the  door. 

"  Then  I  will  come  to  you  in  the  night,"  he  muttered. 
"  You  are  alone  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?  Never !  You  must  not,"  she 
spoke  with  her  lips  only,  but  her  whole  agitated  being 
spoke  something  quite  different. 

The  person  who  came  to  the  door  was  Matr^na  Pav- 
lovna.  She  entered  the  door  with  a  sheet  over  her  arm, 
and,  looking  reproachfully  at  Nekhlyudov,  angrily  up- 
braided Katyusha  for  having  taken  the  wrong  sheet. 

Nekhlyudov  went  away  in  silence.  He  did  not  even 
feel  ashamed.  He  saw,  by  Matr^na  Pavlovna's  expres- 
sion, that  she  condemned  him,  and  knew  that  she  was 
right  in  condemning  him,  just  as  he  knew  that  that  which 
he  was  doing  was  bad ;  but  the  animal  feeling,  which 
straightened  itself  out  from  behind  the  former  feeling  of 
genuine  love  for  her,  took  possession  of  him  and  reigned  all 
alone,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  He  now  knew 
what  it  was  necessary  to  do  in  order  to  satisfy  his  sen- 
sation, and  he  was  looking  for  means  to  attain  his  end. 

During  the  whole  evening  he  was  beside  himself :  he 
now  went  in  to  see  his  aunts,  now  went  away  from  them 
to  his  room  or  upon  the  porch,  and  was  thinking  of  noth- 
ing else  but  how  he  might  see  her  alone ;  but  she  avoided 
him,  and  Matr^na  Pavlovna  did  not  let  her  out  of  her 
sight. 


XVII. 

Thus  passed  the  whole  evening,  and  night  approached. 
The  doctor  had  retired.  The  aunts  were  going  to  bed. 
Nekhlyudov  knew  that  Matr^na  Pavlovna  was  now  in 
the  aunts'  sleeping-room,  and  that  Katyusha  was  alone 
in  the  maids'  chamber.  He  again  went  out  on  the  porch. 
The  air  was  dark,  damp,  and  warm,  and  filled  with  that 
white  mist  which  in  spring  dispels  the  last  snow,  or  itself 
rises  from  the  melting  snow.  From  the  river,  which  was 
within  one  hundred  feet  of  the  house,  down  a  hill,  were 
borne  strange  sounds :  the  ice  was  breaking. 

Nekhlyiidov  descended  from  the  porch,  and,  walking 
through  the  puddles  over  the  crusted  snow,  went  up  to 
the  window  of  the  maids'  room.  His  heart  beat  so 
strongly  in  his  breast  that  he  could  hear  it ;  his  breath 
now  stopped,  now  burst  forth  in  a  deep  sigh.  In  the 
maids'  chamber  a  small  lamp  was  burning;  Katyusha 
was  sitting  at  the  table  and  looking  in  front  of  her. 
Nekhlyudov  did  not  stir,  looking  long  at  her,  and  wonder- 
ing what  she  would  do,  when  unconscious  of  anybodj'^s 
presence.  For  a  couple  of  minutes  she  sat  motionless, 
then  raised  her  eyes,  smiled,  shook  her  head  as  though 
reproachfully  at  herself,  and,  changing  her  position, 
abruptly  placed  both  her  hands  in  front  of  her  on  the 
table,  and  gazed  ahead  of  her. 

He  stood  and  looked  at  her,  and  at  the  same  time 
heard  the  beating  of  his  own  heart  and  the  strange 
sounds  that  were  borne  from  the  river.  There,  on  the 
river,  a  continuous    slow  work  was  going  on,  and  now 

90 


RESURRECTION  91 

something  crashed,  or  cracked,  or  rushed  down ;  and  now 
the  ice-floes  tinkled  hke  glass. 

He  stood  and  looked  at  the  pensive  face  of  Katyusha, 
which  was  tormented  by  an  inward  struggle,  and  he  was 
sorry  for  her,  but,  strange  to  say,  that  pity  only  intensi- 
fied his  passion  for  her. 

The  passion  took  complete  possession  of  him. 

He  tapped  at  the  window.  She  quivered  with  her 
whole  body,  as  though  from  an  electric  shock,  and  terror 
was  expressed  in  her  face.  Then  she  sprang  up,  went 
up  to  the  window,  and  pressed  her  face  to  the  window- 
pane.  Nor  did  the  expression  of  terror  leave  her  face 
when,  upon  screening  it  with  the  palms  of  her  hands,  she 
recognized  him.  Her  countenance  was  serious,  such  as 
he  had  never  observed  it  before.  She  smiled,  when  he 
smiled,  as  though  submitting  to  him,  but  in  her  soul 
there  was  no  smile,  but  terror. 

He  motioned  to  her  with  his  hand,  calling  her  out  into 
the  yard  to  him ;  but  she  shook  her  head,  to  deny  his 
request,  and  remained  standing  at  the  window.  He  put 
his  face  once  more  to  the  window,  intending  to  cry  to  her 
to  come  out,  but  just  then  she  turned  to  the  door, — 
evidently  somebody  had  called  her.  Nekhlyudov  went 
away  from  the  window\  The  fog  was  so  heavy  that  upon 
walking  back  five  steps  it  was  not  possible  to  see  the 
windows  of  the  house,  but  only  a  black  mass,  from  which 
stood  out  the  gleaming  light  of  the  lamp,  which  seemed 
to  be  of  enormous  size.  On  the  river  was  going  on  the 
same  strange  crashing,  rustling,  crackling,  and  tinkling  of 
the  ice.  Near  by,  through  the  fog,  crowed  a  cock,  and 
others  near  him  answered,  and  then  from  the  village  were 
borne  the  intermingling  cockcrows,  finally  joining  into 
one.  But  everything  else  around,  except  the  river,  was 
absolutely  quiet.     This  was  at  second  cockcrow. 

After  having  walked  a  couple  of  times  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  and  having  stepped  several  times  into 


92  RESURRECTION 

a  puddle,  Nekhlyudov  once  more  went  up  to  the  window 
of  the  maids'  room.  The  lamp  was  still  burning,  and 
Katyusha  was  again  sitting  at  the  table,  as  though  in 
indecision.  The  moment  he  came  up  to  the  window,  she 
looked  at  him.  He  knocked.  And,  without  watching  to 
see  who  it  was  that  had  knocked,  she  ran  out  of  the  maids' 
room,  and  he  heard  the  back  door  smack  and  creak.  He 
was  waiting  for  her  near  the  vestibule,  and  immediately 
embraced  her,  in  silence.  She  pressed  close  to  him, 
raised  her  head,  and  with  her  hps  met  his  kiss.  They 
were  standing  around  the  corner  of  the  vestibule  on  a 
spot  from  which  the  ice  had  melted,  and  he  was  full  of 
a  tormenting,  unsatisfied  desire.  Suddenly  the  back  door 
smacked  and  creaked  in  the  same  manner,  and  Matr^na 
Pavlovna's  angry  voice  was  heard : 

"  Katyusha ! " 

She  tore  herself  away  from  him  and  returned  to  the 
maids'  room.  He  heard  the  latch  being  fastened.  Soon 
after  all  grew  silent ;  the  red  eye  of  the  window  disap- 
peared, and  nothing  was  left  but  the  fog  and  the  noise  on 
the  river. 

Nekhlyiidov  went  up  to  the  window,  but  no  one  was 
to  be  seen.  He  knocked,  and  nobody  answered  him. 
Nekhlyiidov  returned  to  the  house  by  the  main  entrance, 
but  did  not  go  to  sleep.  He  took  off  his  boots,  and  went 
barefooted  along  the  corridor  to  her  door,  which  was  the 
one  adjoining  Matr^na  Pavlovna's  room.  At  first  he 
heard  Matrena  Pavlovna's  quiet  snoring,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  entering,  when  suddenly  she  began  to  cough, 
and  turned  around  on  her  creaking  bed.  He  stood  as 
though  petrified  for  five  minutes  in  one  spot.  When 
everything  again  grew  silent,  and  the  quiet  snoring  was 
heard  again,  he  tried  to  walk  on  the  deals  that  did  not 
creak,  and  thus  approached  the  door.  Everything  was 
quiet.  Evidently  she  was  not  asleep,  for  he  could  not 
hear   her   breathing.      But   the    moment   he    whispered, 


RESURRECTION  93 

"  Katyusha ! "  she  leaped  up,  went  to  the  door,  and 
angrily,  so  he  thought,  began  to  persuade  him  to  go 
away. 

"  That's  not  right !  How  can  you  !  Your  aunts  will 
hear  you,"  said  her  lips,  but  her  whole  being  said :  "  I  am 
all  yours  ! " 

And  it  was  this  only  which  Nekhlyudov  understood. 

"  Just  for  a  moment,  please  open.  I  implore  you,"  he 
uttered  senseless  words. 

She  grew  silent:  then  he  heard  the  rustling  of  her 
hand  as  it  groped  for  the  latch.  The  latch  clicked,  and 
he  slipped  in  through  the  opened  door. 

He  seized  her,  as  she  was,  in  her  coarse,  rough  shirt 
with  her  bare  arms,  lifted  her  up,  and  carried  her  away. 

"  Ah  !    What  are  you  doing  ? "  she  whispered. 

But  he  paid  no  attention  to  her  words,  carrying  her  to 
his  room. 

"  Ah,  you  must  not,  —  let  me  —  "  she  said,  all  the 
time  clinging  to  him. 

When  she,  trembling  and  silent,  without  saying  a  word, 
went  away  from  him,  he  came  out  on  the  porch,  trying  to 
reflect  on  the  significance  of  all  that  had  taken  place. 

It  was  now  lighter  in  -the  yard  ;  down  below,  on  the 
river,  the  crackling  and  ringing  and  crashing  of  the  floes 
was  stronger  than  before,  and  to  it  was  now  added  the 
sound  of  the  rippling  water.  The  fog  was  setthng,  and 
behind  the  wall  of  the  fog  swam  out  the  last  quarter 
of  the  moon,  dimly  illuminating  something  black  and 
terrible. 

"  What  is  this  ?  Has  a  great  happiness  or  a  great  mis- 
fortune come  to  me  ? "  he  asked  himself.  "  It  is  always 
this  way,  and  all  do  this  way,"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
went  to  sleep. 


XVIII. 

On  the  following  day,  brilliant,  merry  Sh^nbok  came  to 
the  aunts'  to  fetch  Nekhlyiidov,  and  he  completely  fasci- 
nated them  with  his  elegance,  kindness,  merriment,  gen- 
erosity, and  love  for  Dmitri.  His  generosity  very  much 
pleased  the  aunts,  but  it  baffled  them  somewhat  by  its 
exaggeration.  To  some  blind  beggars,  who  came  to  the 
house,  he  gave  a  rouble ;  in  gratuities  he  spent  about 
fifteen  roubles  ;  and  when  Suzette,  Sofya  Ivanovna's  lap- 
dog,  in  his  presence  had  so  scratched  her  leg  that  the 
blood  began  to  flow,  he  proposed  to  dress  her  wound,  and, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  tore  up  his  cambric  lace- 
edged  handkerchief  (Sofya  Ivanovna  knew  that  such  hand- 
kerchiefs cost  not  less  than  fifteen  roubles  a  dozen),  and 
made  bandages  of  it  for  Suzette.  The  aunts  had  not  yet 
seen  such  gentlemen  and  did  not  know  that  this  Sh^nbok 
owed  something  like  two  hundred  thousand  roubles,  which, 
he  knew  full  well,  would  nevej  be  paid,  and  that  there- 
fore twenty-five  roubles  more  or  less  would  not  matter 
much. 

Sh^ubok  stayed  only  one  day,  and  on  the  following 
night  drove  off  with  Nekhlyiidov.  They  could  not  stay 
any  longer  because  it  was  the  last  date  for  their  leave  of 
absence  from  the  army. 

On  this  last  day  of  Nekhlyudov's  stay  at  his  aunts', 
while  the  memory  of  the  night  was  still  fresh,  two  feel- 
ings rose  and  struggled  in  his  soul:  one,  the  burning, 
sensual  recollections  of  the  animal  love,  even  though  it 
had  failed  by  much  to  give  him  what  it  had  held  out 
to  him,  and  a  certain  self-satisfaction  of  having  reached  a 

9i 


RESURRECTION  95 

goal ;  the  other,  the  consciousness  that  he  had  done  some- 
thing very  bad,  and  that  that  evil  had  to  be  mended,  not 
for  her  sake,  but  for  his. 

In  this  condition  of  his  insanity  of  egotism,  in  which 
he  now  found  himself,  he  thought  only  of  himself,  —  of 
whether  he  would  be  condemned,  and  how  much  he 
would  be  condemned,  if  it  were  found  out  how  he  had 
acted  toward  her,  and  not  of  what  she  was  experiencing, 
or  what  would  become  of  her. 

He  thought  that  Sheubok  guessed  of  his  relations  with 
Katyusha,  and  that  flattered  his  vanity. 

"  I  now  see  what  has  made  you  so  suddenly  fall  in 
love  with  your  aunts,"  Sh^nbok  said  to  him,  when  he  saw 
Katyusha,  "  and  why  you  have  passed  a  week  with  them. 
If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  not  leave  myself. 
Superb ! " 

He  also  thought  that  although  it  was  a  shame  to  leave 
at  once,  without  having  had  the  full  enjoyment  of  his 
love,  the  peremptory  call  to  duty  was  advantageous  in 
that  it  broke  the  relations  at  once,  which  otherwise  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  sustain.  He  also  thought 
that  it  was  necessary  to  give  her  money,  not  for  her  sake, 
because  the  money  might  be  useful  to  her,  but  because  it 
was  customary  to  do  so,  and  he  would  have  been  regarded 
as  a  dishonest  man,  if,  after  seducing  her,  he  did  not  pay 
her.  And  so  he  gave  her  money,  —  as  much  as  he  thought 
proper  according  to  their  respective  positions. 

On  the  day  of  his  departure,  he  watched  for  her  in  the 
vestibule.  Her  face  flushed,  when  she  saw  him,  and  she 
wanted  to  pass  by  him,  indicating  with  her  eyes  the  open 
door  into  the  maids'  room,  but  he  kept  her  back. 

"  I  wanted  to  bid  you  good-bye,"  he  said,  crumphng  the 
envelope  with  the  hundred-rouble  bill  in  it.     "I  —  " 

She  guessed  what  it  was,  frowned,  shook  her  head,  and 
pushed  his  hand  away. 

"  Do  take  it,"  he  mumbled,  putting  the  envelope  in  the 


96  RESURRECTION 

bosom  of  her  garment,  and   running  back  to  his  room, 
frowning  and  groaning,  as  though  he  had  burnt  himself. 

He  paced  his  room  for  a  long  time,  and  crouched,  and 
even  leaped  and  groaned,  as  though  from  physical  pain, 
every  time  he  thought  of  that  scene. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  It  was  always  that  way. 
It  had  been  so  with  Sheubok  and  the  governess,  of  whom 
he  had  told  him  ;  thus  it  had  been  with  Uncle  Grisha ; 
and  thus  it  had  been  with  his  father,  when  he  was  hving 
in  the  country,  and  when  that  illegitimate  son,  Mitenka, 
was  born  to  a  peasant  woman,  who  was  alive  even  now. 
And  if  all  do  that  way,  it  must  be  right.  Thus  he  tried 
to  console  himself,  without  getting  any  real  consolation. 
The  memory  of  his  deed  burnt  his  conscience. 

In  the  depth,  way  down  in  the  depth  of  his  soul,  he 
knew  that  he  had  acted  so  meanly,  so  contemptibly,  and  so 
cruelly  that  with  the  consciousness  of  this  deed  he  not  only . 
could  not  condemn  any  one,  but  even  could  not  look  straight 
into  people's  eyes,  and  that  he  certainly  could  not  regard 
himself  as  a  fine,  noble,  magnanimous  young  man,  such  as 
he  considered  himself  to  be.  And  yet  he  had  to  continue  in 
that  opinion  of  himself,  if  he  wislied  to  lead  the  same  free 
and  happy  life  as  before.  For  this  there  was  but  one 
means  :  not  to  think  of  it.     And  thus  he  did. 

The  life  which  he  now  entered  upon  —  the  new  places, 
comrades,  and  the  war  —  was  helpful  to  him.  The 
longer  he  lived,  the  more  he  forgot,  until,  at  last,  he  did 
not  remember  anything  of  it. 

Only  once,  when,  after  the  war,  he  visited  his  aunts, 
with  the  hope  of  seeing  her,  and  when  he  found  out  that 
Katyusha  was  no  longer  there,  that  soon  after  his  depar- 
ture she  had  left  them,  to  give  birth  to  a  child,  that  she 
had  given  birth  to  one,  and  that,  so  the  aunts  had  heard, 
she  had  become  entirely  dissolute,  —  his  heart  gave  him 
a  painful  twinge.  To  judge  from  the  time  of  the  child's 
birth,  it  might  have  been  his,  and  yet  it  might  have  been 


RESURRECTION 


97 


somebody  else's.  The  aunts  said  that  she  was  demoral- 
ized, and  just  such  a  dissolute  character  as  her  mother 
had  been.  This  reflection  of  his  aunts  gave  him  pleasure, 
because  it  in  a  certain  way  justified  him.  At  first  he  in- 
tended to  look  up  Katyusha  and  the  child,  but  then,  since 
in  the  depth  of  his  soul  he  was  too  much  ashamed  and 
pained  to  think  of  it,  he  did  not  make  every  effort  to 
locate  her,  and  still  more  forgot  his  sin,  and  ceased  think- 
ing of  it. 

And  just  now  this  marvellous  coincidence  reminded  him 
of  everything,  and  everything  demanded  the  confession  of 
his  heartlessuess,  cruelty,  and  meanness,  which  had  made 
it  possible  for  him  quietly  to  live  ten  years  with  such 
a  sin  upon  his  conscience.  But  he  was  still  very  far 
from  such  a  confession,  and  now  he  was  thinking  only 
that  all  might  be  found  out,  that  she  or  her  counsel  would 
bring  out  the  facts,  and  would  put  him  to  shame  before 
every  one. 


XIX. 

Nekhlyudov  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  when  he  left 
the  court -room  for  the  consultation-room.  He  sat  at  the 
window,  listening  to  the  conversations  that  took  place 
about  him,  and  smoking  incessantly. 

The  merry  merchant  obviously  with  all  his  heart 
sympathized  with  Merchant  Smyelkdv  in  his  pastime. 

"  Well,  he  was  a  great  carouser,  in  Siberian  fashion.  He 
knew  a  thing  or  two,  when  he  selected  such  a  girl  to 
kiss." 

The  foreman  was  expatiating  on  the  importance  of  the 
expert  testimony.  Peter  Gerasimovich  was  jesting  with 
the  Jewish  clerk,  and  they  were  both  laughing  about 
something.  Nekhlyudov  answered  in  monosyllables  to 
all  the  questions  which  were  addressed  to  him  and 
wished  only  to  be  left  alone. 

When  the  bailiff,  wdth  his  sidling  gait,  again  called  the 
jurors  to  the  court-room,  Nekhlyudov  experienced  a  sen- 
sation of  terror,  as  though  he  were  going,  not  to  give  a 
verdict,  but  to  be  tried.  In  the  depth  of  his  soul  he  felt 
that  he  was  a  scoundrel  who  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  look 
people  in  the  eyes,  and  yet  he,  by  force  of  habit,  ascended 
the  platform  with  his  usual  self-confident  gait,  and  sat 
down  in  his  seat,  the  second  from  the  foreman's,  and 
began  to  play  with  his  glasses. 

The  defendants  had  been  removed,  and  now  were  being 
brought  back. 

In  the  court-room  there  were  new  faces,  —  the  wit- 
nesses, —  and  Nekhlyudov  noticed  that  Maslova  several 

98 


RESURRECTION  99 

times  gazed  down,  as  though  she  could  not  take  her  eyes 
off  a  fat  woman,  all  dressed  up  in  silk  and  velvet,  who, 
in  a  tall  hat  with  a  large  ribbon,  and  with  an  elegant 
reticule  on  her  arm,  which  was  bare  up  to  the  elbow,  was 
sitting  in  the  first  row,  next  to  the  screen.  This  was,  as 
he  later  found  out,  the  lan'^^1  Ay  of  the  establishment  in 
which  Maslova  had  lived. 

Then  the  examination  of  the  witnesses  began :  their 
names,  religion,  and  so  forth.  Then,  after  the  sides  had 
been  consulted  as  to  whether  the  witnesses  should  be 
examined  under  oath  or  not,  the  same  old  priest,  with 
difficulty  moving  his  legs,  and  in  the  same  manner  ad- 
justing the  gold  cross  on  his  silk  vestment,  with  the  same 
calm  and  conviction  that  he  was  performing  an  exceed- 
ingly useful  and  important  work,  administered  the  oath 
to  the  witnesses  and  to  the  expert.  When  the  oath  was 
finished,  all  the  witnesses  were  led  away,  and  only  one, 
namely,  Kitaeva,  the  proprietress  of  the  house  of  prostitu- 
tion, was  allowed  to  remain.  She  was  asked  what  she 
knew  of  the  affair.  Kitaeva,  with  a  feigned  smile,  duck- 
ing her  head  under  her  hat  at  every  phrase,  told,  with  a 
German  accent,  everything  in  detail  and  distinctly : 

At  first  the  hotel  servant  Simon,  whom  she  well  knew, 
had  come  to  get  a  girl  for  a  rich  Siberian  merchant.  She 
sent  Lyubov.  After  awhile  Lyubov  returned  with  the  mer- 
chant. The  merchant  was  already  in  "  raptures,"  Kitaeva 
said,  with  a  slight  smile,  "  and  at  our  house  continued  to 
drink  and  treat  the  girls,  but  as  his  money  gave  out,  he 
sent  that  same  Lyubov,  for  whom  he  had  a  predilection" 
she  said,  glancing  at  the  defendant. 

It  seemed  to  Nekhlyildov  that  at  these  words  Maslova 
smiled,  and  this  smile  seemed  disgusting  to  him.  A 
strange,  indefinable  feeling  of  loathing,  mingled  with 
compassion,  arose  in  him. 

"  And  what  has  your  opinion  been  of  Maslova  ? " 
timidly  asked  the  blushing  candidate  for  a  judicial  place 


100  RESUKRECTION 

who  had  been  appointed  by  the  court  to  be  Maslova's 
counsel. 

"The  very  best,"  answered  Kitaeva.  "An  educated 
girl  and  chic.  Educated  in  good  family,  and  could  read 
French.  At  times  drank  a  little  too  much,  but  never 
lost  her  senses.     A  very  gOv  .^.  girl." 

Katyusha  looked  at  the  proprietress,  and  then  suddenly 
transferred  her  eyes  to  the  jurors,  and  rested  them  on 
Nekhlyiidov,  and  her  face  became  serious  and  even  stem. 
One  of  her  stern  eyes  squinted.  For  quite  awhile  these 
strange-looking  eyes  were  turned  upon  Nekhlyudov,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  terror  which  took  possession  of  him,  he 
was  unable  to  turn  his  glance  away  from  these  squinting 
eyes  with  the  bright  white  around  them.  He  recalled 
that  terrible  night  with  the  breaking  ice,  with  its  fog, 
and,  above  all,  with  that  upturned  last  quarter  of  the 
moon,  which  rose  before  daybreak  and  illuminated  some- 
thing black  and  terrible.  These  two  black  eyes,  which 
gazed  at  him  and  past  him,  reminded  him  of  something 
black  and  terrible. 

"  She  has  recognized  me,"  he  thought.  And  Nekhlyii- 
dov seemed  to  crouch,  as  though  expecting  a  blow.  She 
calmly  heaved  a  sigh,  and  once  more  began  to  look  at  the 
presiding  judge.  Nekhlyudov,  too,  sighed.  "  Oh,  if  it 
only  came  at  once,"  he  thought.  He  now  experienced  a 
sensation  which  he  had  experienced  before  at  the  chase, 
when  he  had  to  pick  up  a  wounded  bird,  —  he  felt  shame, 
and  pity,  and  annoyance.  The  wounded  bird  would 
flutter  in  his  game-bag,  and  he  would  feel  loathing  and 
pity,  and  would  hke  to  kill  it,  and  to  forget. 

It  was  such  a  mixed  feeling  that  Nekhlyiidov  was  now 
experiencing,  as  he  listened  to  the  examination  of  the 
witnesses. 


XX. 

As  if  to  spite  him,  the  case  was  drawn  out  long :  after 
the  examination  of  the  witnesses  and  the  expert,  one 
after  the  other,  and  after  the  assistant  prosecuting  at- 
torney and  the  lawyers  for  the  defence  had,  with  sig- 
nificant looks,  asked  a  number  of  useless  questions,  the 
presiding  judge  told  the  jurors  to  inspect  the  exhibits, 
which  consisted  of  a  ring  of  enormous  size,  with  a  setting 
of  rose-diamonds,  which  evidently  fitted  on  the  stoutest 
of  forefingers,  and  of  a  vial  iu  which  the  poison  had  been 
examined.  These  things  were  sealed,  and  there  were 
small  labels  upon  them. 

The  jurors  were  just  getting  ready  to  inspect  these 
objects  when  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney  again 
raised  himself  in  his  seat  and  demanded  the  reading  of 
the  medical  examination  of  the  dead  body,  before  passing 
to  the  inspection  of  the  exhibits. 

The  presiding  judge,  who  was  hurrying  the  case  as  fast 
as  possible,  in  order  to  get  to  his  Swiss  woman,  was  very 
well  convinced  that  the  reading  of  that  document  could 
have  no  other  effect  then  inducing  ennui  and  delaying 
the  dinner,  and  that  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney 
had  requested  this  only  because  he  knew  he  had  the  right 
to  make  such  a  request ;  still,  he  could  not  refuse,  and  so 
ordered  it  to  be  read.  The  secretary  got  the  document, 
and  again  with  his  monotonous  voice,  with  the  guttural 
enunciation  of  the  letters  I  and  r,  began  to  read. 

The  external  investigation  had  given  the  following 
results : 

101 


102  RESURRECTION 

(1)  Ferapont  Sinyelkov's  height  was  two  arshins  and 
twelve  vershoks.i 

"  I  declare,  he  was  a  strapping  fellow,"  the  merchant, 
with  an  interested  mien,  whispered  over  Nekhlyiidov's 
ear. 

(2)  His  age  was  from  external  appearances  approx- 
imately fixed  as  forty  years. 

(3)  The  body  had  a  bloated  appearance. 

(4)  The  colour  of  the  integuments  was  greenish;  here 
and  there  tinged  with  darker  spots. 

(5)  The  cuticle  on  the  surface  of  the  body  had  risen 
in  pustules  of  different  size,  and  in  places  had  come  off 
and  was  hanging  in  the  shape  of  large  flaps. 

(6)  His  hair  was  dark  blond,  thick,  and  at  the  touch 
came  out  of  the  skin. 

(7)  The  eyes  stood  out  of  their  sockets,  and  the  cornea 
was  dimmed. 

(8)  From  the  apertures  of  the  nose,  of  both  ears,  and 
of  the  cavity  of  the  mouth  a  lathery,  foamy,  serous  liquid 
was  discharged,  and  the  mouth  was  half  open. 

(9)  There  was  no  perceptible  neck,  on  account  of  the 
bloated  condition  of  the  face  and  chest. 

And  so  on,  and  so  on. 

Four  pages  contained  twenty-seven  points  of  such  kind 
of  a  description  of  all  the  details  revealed  at  the  external 
examination  of  the  terrible,  immense,  fat  and  swollen, 
decomposing  body  of  the  merchant  who  had  been  carous- 
ing in  the  city.  The  sensation  of  indefinable  loathing, 
which  Nekhlyildov  had  been  experiencing,  was  intensified 
at  the  reading  of  this  description  of  the  corpse.  Katyu- 
sha's life  and  the  serum  which  issued  from  his  nostrils, 
and  the  eyes  standing  out  from  their  sockets,  and  his 
treatment  of  her,  seemed  to  him  to  be  objects  of  one  and 
the    same    order,  and   he  •  was    on   all   sides   surrounded 

1  An  arshfn  equals  twenty-eight  inches,  and  a  versh6k  equals  one 
and  three-quarters  inches. 


KESUERECTION  103 

and  absorbed  by  these  objects.  When,  at  last,  the  read- 
ing of  the  external  examination  was  over,  the  presiding 
judge  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  raised  his  head,  hoping  that 
all  was  ended,  but  the  secretary  immediately  proceeded 
to  the  reading  of  the  internal  examinatiou. 

The  presiding  judge  once  more  lowered  his  head,  and, 
leaning  on  his  arm,  closed  his  eyes.  The  merchant,  who 
was  sitting  next  to  Nekhlyiidov,  with  difficulty  kept  the 
sleep  from  his  eyes,  and  now  and  then  swayed  to  and 
fro ;  the  defendants,  and  the  gendarmes  behind  them,  sat 
motionless. 

The  internal  examination  revealed  that : 

(1)  The  cranial  integuments  easily  separated  from 
the  cranial  bones,  and  suffusion  was  nowhere  notice- 
able. 

(2)  The  cranial  bones  were  of  medium  thickness,  and 
sound. 

(3)  On  the  dura  mater  two  small  pigmented  spots 
were  observed ;  they  were  approximately  four  lines  in 
size ;  the  dura  mater  itself  was  of  a  pale  white  hue ;  and 
so  on,  and  so  on,  through  thirteen  points. 

Then  followed  the  names  of  the  coroner's  jury,  the 
signatures,  and  then  the  conclusion  of  the  medical  ex- 
aminer, from  which  it  was  seen  that  the  modifications 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  stomach,  and  partly  in  the 
intestines  and  kidneys,  as  discovered  at  the  inquest  and  as 
mentioned  in  the  protocol,  gave  a  right  to  conclude,  vjith 
a  great  dxgree  of  probability,  that  Smyelkov's  death  had 
been  caused  by  poison  which  had  found  its  way  into  the 
stomach  with  the  wine.  From  the  modification  in  the 
stomach  and  intestines,  which  were  at  hand,  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  determine  what  kind  of  poison  it  was  that  had 
been  introduced  into  the  stomach ;  but  that  it  found  its 
way  into  the  stomach  with  the  wine  must  be  surmised 
from  the  fact  that  a  large  quantity  of  wine  was  discov- 
ered in  Smyelkov's  stomach. 


104  RESURRECTION 

"  Evidently  he  was  a  great  hand  at  drinking,"  again 
whispered  the  merchant,  waking  from  his  sleep. 

But  the  reading  of  this  protocol,  which  lasted  nearly 
an  hour,  did  not  satisfy  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney. 
When  it  was  over,  the  presiding  judge  turned  to  him : 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  superfluous  to  read  the  docu- 
ment referring  to  the  investigation  of  the  internal  organs." 

"  I  should  ask  to  have  this  examination  read,"  sternly 
said  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney,  without  glancing 
at  the  presiding  judge,  raising  himself  with  a  sidewise 
motion,  and  giving  the  judge  to  feel,  by  the  intonation  of 
his  voice,  that  the  request  for  this  reading  constituted  one 
of  his  privileges,  that  he  would  not  be  curtailed  of  his 
right,  and  that  a  refusal  would  serve  as  a  ground  for 
cassation. 

The  member  of  the  court  with  the  long  beard  and 
the  kindly,  drooping  eyes,  who  was  suffering  from  the 
catarrh,  feeling  himself  very  weak,  turned  to  the  presiding 
judge : 

"  What  is  the  use  of  reading  it  ?    It  only  delays  matters. ' 
These  new  brooms  sweep  longer,  but  not  cleaner." 

The  member  in  the  gold  spectacles  did  not  say  any- 
thing, and  looked  gloomily  and  with  determination  in 
front  of  him,  expecting  nothing  good  from  his  wife,  or 
from  life  in  general. 

The  reading  of  the  document  began  : 

"  On  February  15,  188-,  I,  the  undersigned,  at  the 
request  of  the  medical  department,  as  given  in  writing  in 
No.  638,"  the  secretary,  who  had  such  a  soporific  effect 
upon  all  persons  present,  began  in  a  determined  tone, 
raising  the  diapason  of  his  voice,  as  though  wishing  to 
dispel  sleep,  "  in  presence  of  the  assistant  medical  in- 
spector, have  made  the  following  examination  of  the 
internal  organs : 

"  (1)  Of  the  right  lung  and  of  the  heart  (in  a  six-pound 
glass  jar). 


KESURRECTION  105 

"  (2)  Of  the  contents  of  the  stomach  (in  a  six-pound 
glass  jar). 

"  (3)    Of  the  stomach  itself  (in  a  six-pound  glass  jar). 

"(4)  Of  the  liver,  the  spleen,  and  the  kidneys  (in  a 
three-pound  glass  jar). 

"  (5)    Of  the  intestines  (in  a  six-pound  glass  jar)  —  " 

The  presiding  judge  in  the  beginning  of  the  reading 
bent  down  to  one  of  the  members  and  whispered  some- 
thing to  him ;  then  to  the  other,  and  having  received  an 
affirmative  answer,  interrupted  the  reading  in  this  place : 

"  The  court  finds  the  reading  of  the  document  to  be 
superfluous,"  he  said.  The  secretary  stopped  and  picked 
up  his  papers.  The  assistant  prosecuting  attorney  angrily 
made  a  note  of  something. 

"  The  jurors  may  examine  the  exhibits,"  said  the  pre- 
siding judge. 

The  foreman  and  a  few  of  the  jurymen  arose,  and, 
embarrassed  as  to  the  disposition  of  their  hands,  went  up 
to  the  table,  and  in  turns  looked  at  the  ring,  the  jars,  and 
the  vial.  The  merchant  even  tried  on  the  ring  on  his 
finder. 


Well,  he  had  a  good-sized  finger,"  he  said,  upon  re- 
turning to  his  seat.  "  As  big  as  a  cucumber,"  he  added, 
obviously  enjoying  the  conception  of  the  hero  which  he 
had  formed  of  the  poisoned  merchant. 


XXL 

When  the  examination  of  the  exhibits  was  ended,  the 
presiding  judge  declared  the  judicial  inquest  closed,  and, 
without  any  interruption,  wishing  to  get  through  as  soon 
as  possible,  asked  the  prosecutor  to  begin  his  speech,  in 
the  hope  that  he,  too,  wishing  to  have  a  smoke  and  a 
dinner,  would  have  pity  on  him.  But  the  assistant  prose- 
cuting attorney  pitied  neither  himself  nor  them.  The 
assistant  prosecuting  attorney  was  naturally  very  stupid, 
but  he  had  the  additional  misfortune  of  having  graduated 
from  the  gymnasium  with  a  gold  medal,  and  of  having 
received  a  reward  at  the  university  for  his  thesis  on  the 
servitudes  of  the  Eoman  law,  which  made  him  exceed- 
ingly self-confident  and  self-satisfied  (which  was  still 
more  increased  by  his  success  with  the  ladies),  and  in 
consequence  of  this  he  was  extremely  stupid.  When  the 
floor  was  given  to  him,  he  slowly  rose,  displaying  his 
whole  graceful  figure,  in  an  embroidered  uniform,  and, 
placing  both  his  hands  on  the  desk,  and  shghtly  inclining 
his  head,  cast  a  glance  upon  the  whole  room,  avoiding 
only  the  defendants,  and  then  began  : 

"  The  case  which  is  presented  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,"  he  began  his  speech,  which  he  had  prepared  during 
the  reading  of  the  protocol  and  coroner's  inquest,  "  is,  if 
I  may  so  express  myself,  a  characteristic  crime." 

The  speech  of  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney,  ac- 
cording to  his  opinion,  ought  to  have  a  public  significance, 
like  those  famous  speeches  which  had  been  delivered  by 
those  who  later  became  famous  lawyers.  It  is  true, 
among  the  spectators  were  only  three  women,  a  sewing 

106 


EESUKRECTION  107 

girl,  a  cook,  aud  Simon's  sister,  and  one  coachman,  hut 
that  was  nothing.  Those  celebrities  had  begun  in  the 
same  way.  It  was  a  rule  of  the  associate  prosecuting 
attorney  always  to  be  on  the 'height  of  his  calling,  that 
is,  to  penetrate  the  depth  of  the  psychologic  significance 
of  the  crime,  and  to  lay  bare  the  sores  of  society. 

"  You  see  before  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  one  may 
so  express  oneself,  a  characteristic  crime  of  the  end  of 
the  century,  bearing  upon  itself,  so  to  speak,  the  specific 
characteristics  of  that  melancholy  phenomenon  of  de- 
composition, to  which,  in  our  day,  are  subjected  those 
elements  of  society  that,  so  to  speak,  are  under  the  ultra- 
burning  rays  of  that  process  —  " 

The  associate  prosecuting  attorney  spoke  a  very  long 
time,  on  the  one  hand  trying  to  recall  all  those  clever 
things  which  he  had  thought  of,  and,  on  the  other,  —  and 
this  was  most  important,  —  endeavouring  not  to  stop  for 
a  moment,  but  to  let  his  speech  flow  uninterruptedly 
for  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Only  once  did  he  stop,  and 
for  awhile  kept  swallowing,  but  he  soon  found  his  bear- 
ings and  made  up  for  the  interruption  by  his  intensified 
eloquence.  He  spoke  now  in  a  tender,  insinuating  voice, 
stepping  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and  looking  at  the 
jurors,  and  now  in  a  quiet,  businesslike  tone,  glancing 
at  his  notes,  and  now  again  in  a  loud,  condemnatory 
voice,  addressing  now  the  spectators,  and  now  the  jurors. 
On  the  defendants,  however,  who  had  riveted  their  eyes 
upon  him,  he  did  not  look  once.  In  his  speech  were  all 
the  latest  points  which  had  become  fashionable  in  his 
circle,  and  which  had  been  accepted  as  the  latest  word 
of  scientific  wisdom.  Here  were  heredity,  and  inborn 
criminality,  and  Lombroso,  and  Tarde,  and  evolution,  and 
struggle  for  existence,  and  hypnotism,  and  suggestion, 
and  Charcot,  and  decadence. 

Merchant  Smyelkdv,  according  to  the  definition  of  the 
associate  prosecuting  attorney,  was  a  type  of  a  mighty, 


108  RESUKRECTION 

uncorrupted  Eussian,  with  his  broad  nature,  who,  on 
account  of  his  confidence  and  magnanimity,  had  fallen 
as  a  victim  of  deeply  perverted  persons,  into  whose  power 
he  had  come. 

Simon  Kartinkin  was  an  atavistic  production  of  serf- 
dom, a  crushed  man,  without  education,  without  principles, 
even  without  religion.  Evfimiya  was  his  sweetheart,  and 
a  victim  of  heredity.  In  her  could  be  observed  all  the 
characteristics  of  a  degenerate  personality.  But  the  chief 
mainspring  of  the  crime  was  Maslova,  who  represented 
the  phenomena  of  decadence  in  its  lowest  form.  "  This 
woman,"  so  said  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney,  with- 
out looking  at  her,  "has  received  an  education,  as  we 
have  learned  here  in  court  from  the  evidence  of  her  land- 
lady. She  not  only  can  read  and  write,  but  can  also 
speak  French ;  she  is  an  orphan,  who  no  doubt  bears 
in  herself  the  germs  of  criminality  ;  she  has  been  edu- 
cated in  a  family  of  cultured  gentlefolk,  and  could  have 
lived  by  honest  labour ;  but  she  left  her  benefactors, 
abandoned  herself  to  her  passions,  and,  to  satisfy  them, 
entered  a  house  of  prostitution,  where  she  stood  out  from 
among  her  companions  by  her  education,  and,  above 
everything  else,  as  we  have  heard  here  from  her  landlady, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  by  her  abihty  to  influence  the 
visitors  by  that  mysterious  quality,  which  has  of  late 
been  investigated  by  science,  especially  by  the  school  of 
Charcot,  and  which  is  known  under  the  name  of  sugges- 
tion. By  means  of  that  quality  she  took  possession  of 
a  Eu^ian  hero,  that  good-natured,  trustful  Sadko,  the 
rich  merchant,  and  used  that  confidence,  first  to  rob  him, 
and  then  pitilessly  to  deprive  him  of  life." 

"  He  is  getting  dreadfully  off  on  a  tangent,"  said,  smiling, 
the  presiding  judge,  leaning  down  to  the  austere  member. 

"  He's  a  terrible  blockhead,"  said  the  austere  member. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  the  associate  prosecuting 
attorney  continued  in  the  meantime,  gracefully  bending 


EESUERECTION  109 

his  lithe  form, "  the  fate  of  these  persons  is  in  your  power, 
but,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  fate  of  society,  which  you 
influence  by  your  sentence,  is  in  your  power.  Carefully 
consider  the  meaning  of  this  crime,  the  danger  to  wliich 
society  is  subjected  by  such  pathological  individuals,  if 
I  may  so  express  myself,  as  is  this  Maslova,  and  guard 
it  against  contagion,  guard  the  innocent,  strong  elements 
of  society  against  contagion,  and  often  against  destruction." 

As  though  crushed  by  the  importance  of  the  impend- 
ing decision,  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney,  evidently 
highly  enraptured  with  his  own  speech,  fell  back  in  his 
chair. 

The  pith  of  his  speech,  outside  of  the  flowers  of  elo- 
quence, was  that  Maslova  had  hypnotized  the  merchant, 
by  insinuating  herself  into  his  confidence,  and,  having 
arrived  in  the  room  with  the  key,  in  order  to  fetch  the 
money,  had  intended  to  take  it  all  for  herself,  but,  hav- 
ing been  caught  by  Simon  and  Evfimiya,  had  been  com- 
pelled to  share  the  booty  with  them.  Later,  intending 
to  conceal  the  traces  of  her  crime,  she  came  with  the 
merchant  to  the  hotel,  where  she  poisoned  him. 

After  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney's  speech  there 
rose  from  tlie  lawyers'  bench  a  middle-aged  man  in  a 
dress  coat,  with  the  broad  semicircle  of  a  white  starched 
shirt  front,  and  with  animation  defended  Kartinkin  and 
Bochkova.  He  was  the  attorney  who  had  been  employed 
by  them  for  three  hundred  roubles.  He  justified  their 
actions,  and  put  all  the  guilt  on  Maslova's  shoulders. 

He  refuted  Maslova's  testimony  that  Bochkova  and 
Kartinkin  had  been  with  her,  when  she  took  the  money, 
pointing  out  the  fact  that  her  testimony,  as  that  of  an 
established  poisoner,  could  have  no  weight.  The  money, 
—  the  twenty-five  hundred  roubles,  —  said  the  lawyer, 
could  have  been  earned  by  two  industrious  and  honest 
people,  who  received  as  much  as  three  and  five  roubles  a 
day  in  gratuities.     The  merchant's  money  had  been  stolen 


110  RESURIiECTION 

by  Maslova,  and  had  been  given  to  somebody,  or  probably 
was  lost,  since  she  was  in  an  abnormal  condition.  The 
poisoning  was  done  by  Maslova  alone. 

Therefore  he  asked  the  jury  to  declare  Kartinkin  and 
Bochkova  not  guilty  of  the  robbery  of  the  money,  or,  if 
they  did  declare  them  guilty  of  the  robbery,  to  give  a 
verdict  without  participation  in  the  poisoning,  and  with- 
out premeditation. 

In  conclusion,  the  lawyer,  to  sting  the  associate  prose- 
cuting attorney,  remarked  that  the  eloquent  reflections  of 
the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney  explained  the  scientific 
questions  of  heredity,  but  were  out  of  place  in  this  case, 
because  Bochkova  was  the  child  of  unknown  parents. 

The  associate  prosecuting  attorney,  as  though  to  show 
his  teeth,  angrily  made  a  note  on  his  paper,  and  with 
contemptuous"  surprise  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Then  arose  Maslova's  counsel,  and  timidly  and  with 
hesitation  made  the  defence.  Without  denying  the  fact 
that  Maslova  had  taken  part  in  the  robbery,  he  insisted  that 
she  had  had  no  intention  of  poisoning  Smyelkdv,  and  had 
given  him  the  powder  merely  to  put  him  to  sleep.  He 
wanted  to  make  a.  display  of  eloquence,  by  surveying 
Maslova's  past,  how  she  had  been  drawn  to  a  life  of 
debauch  by  a  man  who  remained  unpunished,  while  she 
had  to  bear  the  whole  brunt  of  her  fall,  but  this  excursus 
into  the  field  of  psychology  was  a  perfect  failure,  so  that 
all  felt  sorry  for  him.  As  he  was  muttering  about  the 
cruelty  of  men  and  the  helplessness  of  women,  the  presid- 
ing judge,  wishing  to  help  him  out,  asked  him  to  keep 
closer  to  the  essentials  of  the  case. 

After  this  defence,  again  rose  the  associate  prosecuting 
attorney,  and  defended  his  position  about  heredity 
agauist  the  first  counsel  for  the  defence  by  saying  that 
the  fact  that  Bochkova  was  the  daughter  of  unknown 
parents  did  not  in  the  least  invalidate  the  doctrine  of 
heredity,   because   the   law   of   heredity    was    so   firmly 


RESURRECTION  111 

established  by  science  that  we  not  only  could  deduce  a 
crime  from  heredity,  but  also  heredity  from  a  crime.  But 
as  to  the  supposition  of  the  defence  that  Maslova  had 
been  corrupted  by  an  imaginary  seducer  (he  dwelt  with 
particular  sarcasm  on  the  word  "  imaginary  "),  all  the  data 
seemed  to  point  to  the  fact  that  she  had  been  the  seducer 
of  many,  very  many  victims  who  had  passed  through  her 
hands.     Having  said  this,  he  sat  down  victorious. 

Then  the  defendants  were  asked  to  say  something  in 
their  justitication. 

Evfimiya  Bochkova  repeated  that  she  knew  nothing, 
that  she  had  not  been  present  at  anything,  and  stubbornly 
pointed  to  Maslova  as  the  only  culprit.  Simon  repeated 
several  times : 

"  Do  as  you  please,  but  I  am  not  guilty,  and  it  is  all 
in  vain." 

Maslova  did  not  say  anything.  To  the  presiding  judge's 
invitation  to  say  something  in  her  defence,  she  only  raised 
her  eyes  upon  him,  glanced  at  everybody,  hke  a  hunted 
deer,  and  immediately  lowered  her  eyes,  arid  burst  out 
into  loud  sobs. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  asked  the  merchant, 
who  was  sitting  next  to  Nekhlyudov,  upon  hearing  a 
strange  sound,  which  Nekhlyudov  was  suddenly  emi'oting. 
It  sounded  hke  a  checked  sob. 

Nekhlyudov  did  not  yet  grasp  the  full  significance  of 
his  position,  and  ascribed  the  restrained  sobs  and  the 
tears,  which  had  come  out  in  his  eyes,  to  the  weakness  of 
his  nerves.  He  put  on  his  eye-glasses,  in  order  to  conceal 
them,  then  drew  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  and 
began  to  clear  his  nose. 

The  dread  of  the  disgrace  with  which  he  would  cover 
himself,  if  all  in  the  court-room  should  learn  of  his  deed, 
drowned  all  the  inner  work  which  was  going  on  within 
him.  This  dread  was  during  that  time  stronger  than 
anything  else. 


XXII. 

After  these  words  of  the  defendants  and  the  consulta- 
tion of  the  sides  about  the  putting  of  the  questions,  which 
lasted  for  quite  awhile,  the  questions  were  put,  and  the 
presiding  judge  began  his  r^sum^. 

Before  entering  on  the  recapitulation  of  the  case,  he, 
with  a  pleasant,  familiar  intonation,  for  a  long  time 
explained  to  the  jury  that  misappropriation  was  misappro- 
priation, and  theft  was  theft,  and  robbery  from  a  place 
under  lock  was  robbery  from  a  place  under  lock,  and 
robbery  from  an  unlocked  place  was  robbery  from  an 
unlocked  place.  While  giving  this  explanation,  he  very 
frequently  glanced  over  to  Nekhlyildov,  as  though  anxious 
to  impress  him  in  particular  with  this  important  fact,  in 
the  hope  that  he,  comprehending  its  whole  import,  would 
be  able  to  explain  it  to  his  fellow  jurors.  Then  surmising 
that  the  jury  was  sufficiently  instructed  in  this  truth,  he 
began  to  expatiate  on  another  truth,  namely,  that  murder 
was  an  act  from  which  ensues  the  death  of  a  man,  and 
that,  therefore,  poisoning  was  also  murder.  When  this 
truth,  too,  had,  in  his  opinion,  been  imbibed  by  the  jury, 
he  explained  to  them  that  when  theft  and  murder  are 
committed  at  the  same  time,  then  the  crime  constitutes 
both  theft  and  murder. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  wanted  to  get  through 
as  soon  as  possible  and  that  the  Swiss  girl  was  waiting 
for  him,  he  was  so  accustomed  to  his  occupation  that, 
having  begun  to  speak,  he  could  not  check  himself,  and 
so  he  minutely  instructed  the  jury  that  if  they  found  the 
defendants  guilty,  they  had  a  right  to  give  a  verdict  of 

112 


KESURRECTION  113 

guilty,  and  that  if  they  found  them  not  guilty,  they  were 
empowered  to  pass  a  verdict  of  not  guilty ;  but  if  they 
found  them  guilty  of  one  thing,  and  not  guilty  of  another, 
they  could  declare  them  guilty  of  one  thing,  and  not 
guilty  of  another.  Then  he  explained  to  them  that 
although  they  had  such  a  right,  they  must  use  it  with 
discretion.  He  also  wished  to  instruct  them  that  if  they 
gave  an  affirmative  answer  to  a  given  question,  they  there- 
with accepted  the  question  in  its  entirety,  and  if  they 
did  not  accept  it  in  its  entirety,  they  ought  to  specify 
what  it  was  they  excluded.  But  upon  looking  at  his 
watch  and  seeing  that  it  was  five  minutes  to  three,  he 
decided  to  pass  at  once  to  the  review  of  the  case. 

"  The  circumstances  of  the  case  are  as  follows,"  he 
began,  and  repeated  all  that  had  previously  been  said  by 
the  defence,  and  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney,  and 
the  witnesses. 

The  presiding  judge  spoke,  and  the  members  on  both 
sides  listened  to  him  with  a  thoughtful  mien,  and  occa- 
sionally looked  at  the  clock,  finding  his  speech  very 
beautiful,  that  is,  such  as  it  ought  to  be,  but  rather  long. 
Of  the  same  opinion  were  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney 
and  all  the  judicial  persons  and  all  the  spectators  in  the 
court-room.     The  presiding  judge  finished  his  r^sum^. 

It  seemed  that  everything  had  been  said.  But  the 
presiding  judge  could  not  part  from  his  privilege  of  speak- 
ing, —  it  gave  him  such  pleasure  to  listen  to  the  impressive 
intonations  of  his  own  voice,  —  and  he  found  it  necessary  to 
add  a  few  words  on  the  importance  of  the  right  which 
was  granted  to  the  jurors,  and  how  attentively  and 
cautiously  they  ought  to  make  use  of  that  right,  and  not 
misuse  it ;  he  said  that  they  were  under  oath,  and  that 
they  were  the  pubhc  conscience,  and  that  the  secrecy 
of  the  jury-room  must  be  kept  sacred,  and  so  on,  and 
so  on. 

From  the  time  that  the  presiding  judge  began  to  speak, 


114  RESURRECTION 

Maslova  did  not  take  her  eyes  away  from  him,  as  though 
fearing  to  lose  a  word,  and  therefore  Nekhlyildov  was  not 
afraid  of  meeting  her  glance,  and  uninterruptedly  looked 
at  her.  And  in  his  imagination  took  place  that  common 
phenomenon,  that  the  long  missed  face  of  a  beloved  person, 
at  first  striking  one  by  the  external  changes  which  have 
taken  place  during  the  period  of  absence,  suddenly  becomes 
precisely  like  what  it  was  many  years  ago :  all  the 
changes  disappear,  and  before  the  spiritual  eyes  arises 
only  that  chief  expression  of  an  exclusive,  unrepeated, 
spiritual  personality.  Precisely  this  took  place  in  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

•  In  spite  of  the  prison  cloak,  and  the  plumper  body 
and  swelling  bosom,  in  spite  of  the  broadened  lower  part 
of  her  face,  the  wrinkles  on  her  brow  and  temples,  and 
the  somewhat  swollen  eyes,  it  was  unquestionably  that 
same  Katyusha  who  on  that  Easter  night  had  so  inno- 
cently looked  at  him,  the  man  beloved  by  her,  with  her 
upturned  loving  eyes,  smihng  with  joy  and  with  the  ful- 
ness of  life. 

"  Such  a  strange  coincidence !  How  wonderful  that  this 
case  should  come  up  during  my  turn  as  a  juror,  that  after 
ten  years  I  should  meet  her  here,  on  the  defendants' 
bench  !  And  how  will  all  this  end  ?  Ah,  if  it  only  would 
all  end  soon  ! " 

He  did  not  yet  submit  to  that  feeling  of  repentance 
which  was  beginning  to  speak  within  him.  It  appeared 
to  him  as  an  accident  which  would  pass  by  without  disturb- 
ing the  tenor  of  his  life.  He  felt  himself  to  be  in  the 
condition  of  the  pup,  when,  after  he  has  misbehaved  in 
the  room,  his  master  takes  him  by  the  back  of  his  neck  and 
sticks  his  nose  into  the  filth  which  he  has  caused.  The 
pup  whines  and  pulls  back,  in  order  to  get  away  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  consequences  of  his  deed,  and  to  forget 
them,  but  the  inexorable  master  does  not  let  him  go. 
Just  so   Nekhlyiidov  was  conscious  of   the  filth  which 


RESURRECTION  115 

he  was  guilty  of,  and  of  the  mighty  hand  of  the  master  ; 
but  he  did  not  yet  understand  the  significance  of  what  he 
had  done,  and  did  not  acknowledge  the  master  himself. 
He  did  not  wish  to  believe  that  that  which  was  before 
him  was  his  deed.  But  an  inexorable,  invisible  hand 
held  him,  and  he  felt  that  he  should  never  wring  himseK 
away  from  it.  He  was  still  putting  on  a  bold  face,  and, 
by  force  of  habit,  placed  one  leg  over  the  other,  carelessly 
played  with  his  eye-glasses,  and  sat  in  a  self-satisfied  atti- 
tude on  the  second  chair  of  the  first  row.  In  the  mean- 
time he  was  conscious,  in  the  depth  of  his  soul,  of  all  the 
cruelty,  meanness,  and  rascality,  not  only  of  his  deed,  but 
of  his  whole  indolent,  dissolute,  cruel,  and  arbitrary  Hfe, 
and  that  terrible  curtain,  which  as  if  by  some  magic  had  for 
twelve  years  concealed  from  himself  that  crime  and  all 
his  consequent  life,  was  already  swaying,  and  he  could 
get  some  short  glimpses  behind  it. 


XXIIL 

Finally,  the  presiding  judge  finished  his  speech,  and 
with  a  graceful  motion  raising  the  question-sheet,  handed 
it  to  the  foreman,  who  had  walked  over  to  him.  The  jury 
rose,  glad  to  get  away,  and,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
their  hands,  as  though  ashamed  of  something,  went  one 
after  another  into  the  consultation-room.  The  moment 
the  door  was  closed  behind  them,  a  gendarme  went  up  to 
the  door,  and,  unsheathing  his  sabre  and  shouldering 
it,  took  up  a  position  near  it.  The  judges  arose  and 
walked  out.     The  defendants,  too,  were  led  away. 

Upon  reaching  the  consultation-room,  the  jurors,  as 
before,  immediately  took  out  their  cigarettes  and  began 
to  smoke.  The  unnaturalness  and  falseness  of  their  situa- 
tion, which  they  all  had  been  conscious  of  in  a  greater  or 
lesser  degree  while  seated  in  the  court-room,  passed  the 
moment  they  entered  the  consultation-room  and  began 
to  smoke,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  they  made  them- 
selves at  home  and  began  to  converse  in  an  animated 
manner. 

"  The  girl  is  not  guilty,  she  is  just  tangled  up,"  said  the 
good-natured  merchant.  "  We  must  be  indulgent  with 
her ! " 

"  This  we  shall  consider  later,"  said  the  foreman.  "  We 
must  not  be  misled  by  our  personal  impressions." 

"  The  presiding  judge  has  made  a  fine  r^sum^,"  re- 
marked the  colonel. 

"  Very  fine  indeed  !     I  almost  fell  asleep." 

"  The  main  thing  is  that  the  servants  could  not  have 

116 


RESURRECTION  117 

known  of  the  money,  if  Maslova  had  not  been  in  a  con- 
spiracy with  them,"  said  the  clerk  of  Jewish  type. 

"  Well,  did  she  steal  it,  in  your  opinion  ? "  asked  one  of 
the  jurors. 

"  You  can't  make  me  believe  it,"  cried  the  good-natured 
merchant.     "  The  red-eyed  wench  has  done  it  all." 

"  They  are  every  one  of  them  a  nice  lot,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  She  says  she  never  went  inside  the  room." 

"  Yes,  you  may  believe  her.  I  should  not  believe 
that  slut  for  anything  in  the  world." 

"  But  what  of  it  if  you  would  not  believe  her  ? "  said 
the  clerk. 

"  She  had  the  key." 

"  What  of  it  if  she  did  have  it  ? "  retorted  the  merchant. 

"  And  the  ring  ? " 

"  She  told  about  it,"  again  shouted  the  merchant.  "  The 
merchant  had  a  temper,  and  had  been  drinking  and 
walloping  her.  And  then,  of  course,  he  was  sorry 
for  what  he  had  done.  '  Take  this,  and  don't  cry  ! '  From 
what  I  heard,  he  must  have  been  a  strapping  fellow,  two 
and  twelve,  and  weigliing  some  three  hundred  pounds." 

"  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case,"  Peter  Gerasi- 
movich  interrupted  him.  "  The  question  is,  whether  she 
did  it  all  and  persuaded  the  others,  or  whether  the  serv- 
ants took  the  initiative." 

"  The  servants  could  not  have  done  it  by  themselves, 
for  she  had  the  key." 

The  disconnected  conversation  lasted  quite  awhile. 

"  Please,  gentlemen,"  said  the  foreman.  "  Let  us  sit 
down  at  the  table,  and  consider  the  case.  Please,"  he 
said,  sitting  down  in  the  foreman's  chair. 

"  Those  girls  are  contemptible,"  said  the  clerk,  and,  in 
confirmation  of  his  opinion  that  Maslova  was  the  chief 
culprit,  he  told  how  one  of  these  girls  had  stolen  a  watch 
from  a  friend  of  his  in  the  boulevard. 


118  KESURRECTION 

This  gave  the  colonel  an  opportunity  of  relating  a  more 
wonderful  theft  of  a  silver  samovar. 

"  Gentlemen,  let  us  take  up  the  questions  in  order," 
said  the  foreman,  tapping  his  pencil  on  the  table. 

All  grew  quiet.  The  questions  were  expressed  as  fol- 
lows : 

(1)  Is  Simon  Petrov  Kartinkin,  a  peasant  of  the  village 
of  Borki,  Krapivensk  County,  thirty-three  years  of  age, 
guilty  of  having  conspired  on  January  17,  18  8-,  in  the 

city  of  N- ,  to  deprive  Merchant  Smyelkdv  of  his  life, 

for  the  purpose  of  robbing  him,  in  company  with  others,  by 
administering  to  him  poison  in  cognac,  from  which  ensued 
Smyelkdv's  death,  and  of  having  stolen  from  him  about 
2,500  roubles  and  a  diamond  ring  ? 

(2)  Is  Burgess  Evfimiya  Ivanovna  Bochkova,  forty- 
three  years  of  age,  guilty  of  the  crime  described  in  the 
first  question  ? 

(3)  Is  Burgess  Katerina  Mikhaylovna  Maslova,  twenty- 
seven  years  of  age,  guilty  of  the  crime  described  in  the 
first  question  ? 

(4)  If  the  defendant,  Evfimiya  Bochkova,  is  not  guilty 
according  to  the  first  question,  may  she  not  be  guilty  of 

having,  on  January  17,  188-,  in  the  city  of  N ,  while 

being  a  servant  in  "  Hotel  Mauritania,"  secretly  stolen  from 
the  locked  vahse  of  a  hotel  guest.  Merchant  Smyelkdv, 
which  was  in  his  room,  the  sum  of  2,500  roubles,  having 
for  this  purpose  opened  the  valise  with  a  false  key  ? 

The  foreman  read  the  first  question. 

"  Well,  gentlemen  ? " 

To  this  question,  the  reply  was  readily  made.  All 
agreed  to  answer,  "  Yes,  guilty,"  finding  him  guilty  of 
participation,  both  in  the  poisoning  and  in  the  robbery. 
The  only  one  who  would  not  agree  to  finding  Kartinkin 
guilty  was  an  old  labourer,  who  answered  all  questions  in 
an  exculpatory  way. 

The  foreman  thought  that  he  did  not  understand,  and 


RESURRECTION  119 

explained  to  him  that  there  was  no  possible  doubt  of 
Kartinkin's  and  Bochkova's  guilt,  but  the  labourer  replied 
that  he  understood  it  all,  but  that  it  would  be  better  to 
exercise  mercy.  "  We  ourselves  are  no  saints,"  he  said, 
and  stuck  to  his  opinion. 

To  the  second  question  about  Bochkova,  they  replied, 
after  long  discussions  and  elucidations,  "  Not  guilty," 
because  there  were  no  clear  proofs  of  her  participation 
in  the  poisoning,  upon  which  her  lawyer  had  dwelt  so 
emphatically. 

The  merchant,  wishing  to  acquit  Maslova,  insisted  that 
Bochkova  was  the  chief  instigator  of  the  whole  thing. 
Many  jurors  agreed  with  him,  but  the  foreman,  trying  to 
remain  within  strictly  legal  bounds,  said  that  there  was 
no  ground  for  finding  her  guilty  of  participation  in  the 
poisoning. 

After  many  discussions,  the  foreman's  opinion  pre- 
vailed. 

To  the  fourth  question,  about  Bochkova,  they  replied, 
"  Yes,  guilty,"  but,  since  the  labourer  insisted  upon  it, 
they  added,  "  but  deserves  mercy." 

The  question  about  Maslova  brought  forth  violent  dis- 
cussions. The  foreman  insisted  that  she  was  guilty  both 
of  the  poisoning  and  of  the  robbery,  but  the  merchant  did 
not  agree  with  him,  and  he  was  joined  by  the  colonel,  the 
clerk  and  the  labourer ;  the  others  seemed  to  waver,  but 
the  opinion  of  the  foreman  began  to  prevail,  especially 
since  all  the  jurors  were  tired,  and  gladly  accepted  the 
opinion  which  was  more  likely  to  unite  all,  and  therefore 
to  free  them. 

By  all  that  had  taken  place  at  the  inquest,  and  by 
what  Nekhlyudov  knew  of  Maslova,  he  was  convinced 
that  she  was  not  guilty  either  of  the  robbery  or  of  the 
poisoning ;  at  first  he  was  certain  that  all  would  find  it 
so,  but  when  he  saw  that,  on  account  of  the  merchant's 
awkward  defence,  which  was  based  on  the  fact  that  Mas- 


120  RESURRECTION 

lova  pleased  him  in  a  physical  way,  a  fact  of  which  he 
made  no  secret,  on  account  of  the  opposition  of  the  fore- 
man for  that  very  reason,  and,  especially,  on  account  of 
the  fatigue  of  all,  the  verdict  was  turning  toward  finding 
her  guilty,  he  wanted  to  retort,  but  he  felt  terribly  about 
saying  anything  in  regard  to  Maslova,  —  it  seemed  to  him 
that  everybody  would  at  once  discover  his  relations  with 
her.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  that  he  could  not  leave 
the  case  as  it  was,  but  that  he  had  to  retort.  He  blushed 
and  grew  pale  by  turns,  and  was  on  the  point  of  saying 
something,  when  Peter  Gerasimovich,  who  had  remained 
silent  until  then,  evidently  provoked  by  the  foreman'^ 
authoritative  tone,  suddenly  began  to  oppose  him  and  to 
say  the  very  thing  Nekhlyudov  had  intended  to  bring 
out. 

"  If  you  please,"  he  said,  "  you  say  that  she  is  guilty  of 
the  robbery  because  she  had  a  key ;  could  not  the  hotel 
servants  have  later  opened  the  vaUse  with  a  false 
key?" 

"  That's  it,  that's  it,"  the  merchant  seconded  him. 

"  It  was  not  possible  for  her  to  take  the  money,  because 
in  her  situation  she  could  not  dispose  of  it." 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  the  merchant  confirmed  him. 

"  It  is  more  likely  that  her  arrival  gave  the  servants 
the  idea  of  utilizing  the  opportunity  and  throwing  every- 
thing upon  her  shoulders." 

Peter  Gerasimovich  spoke  in  an  irritated  manner.  His 
irritation  was  communicated  to  the  foreman,  who,  for  that 
very  reason,  began  with  greater  stubbornness  to  insist  upon 
his  opposite  views ;  but  Peter  Gerasimovich  spoke  so  con- 
vincingly that  the  majority  agreed  with  him,  finding  that 
Maslova  had  not  taken  part  in  the  robbery  of  the  money 
and  ring,  and  that  the  ring  had  been  given  to  her. 

When  the  discussion  about  her  share  in  the  poisoning 
began,  her  warm  defender,  the  merchant,  said  that  she 
ought  to  be  found  not  guilty,  because  she  had  no  reason 


KESUKRECTION  121 

for  poisoning  him.  But  the  foreman  said  that  they  could 
not  help  tiudiug  her  guilty  because  she  had  herseK  con- 
fessed to  administeriug  the  poison  to  him. 

"  She  gave  it  to  him,  but  she  thought  it  was  opium," 
said  the  merchant. 

"  She  could  have  deprived  him  of  life  with  opium,"  said 
the  colonel,  who  was  fond  of  digressions,  and  began  to  tell 
that  his  brother-in-law's  wife  had  poisoned  herself  with 
opium,  aud  that  she  w^ould  certainly  have  died  if  a  doctor 
had  not  been  near,  and  if  the  proper  measures  had  not 
been  taken  in  time.  The  colouel  spoke  so  persuasively, 
self-confidently,  aud  with  such  'dignity,  that  nobody  had 
the  courage  to  interrupt  him.  Only  the  clerk,  infected  by 
his  example,  decided  to  interrupt  him  in  order  to  tell  his 
own  story. 

"  Some  get  so  used  to  it,"  he  began,  "  that  they  can  take 
forty  drops.     A  relative  of  mine  —  " 

But  the  colonel  did  not  permit  himself  to  be  inter- 
rupted, and  continued  his  story  about  the  effect  of  the 
opium  on  the  wife  of  his  brother-in-law. 

"  Gentlemen,  it  is  already  past  four,"  said  one  of  the 
jurors. 

"  How  is  it,  then,  gentlemen  ? "  the  foreman  addressed 
them.  "Let  us  find  her  guilty  without  premeditated 
robbery,  and  without  seizing  any  property." 

"  How  is  that  ? " 

Peter  Gerasimovich,  satisfied  with  his  victory,  agreed 
to  this. 

"  But  deserves  mercy,"  added  the  merchant. 

All  consented  to  this,  only  the  labourer  insisted  upon 
saying  "  Not  guilty." 

"  That's  what  it  amounts  to,"  explained  the  foreman. 
"  This  makes  her  not  guilty." 

"  Put  it  down :  '  and  deserves  mercy.'  That  means, 
clearing  off  the  whole  matter,"  merrily  said  the  merchant. 

Everybody  was  so  tired,  and  so  confused  by  their  dis- 


122  KESURRECTION 

cussions  that  it  did  not  occur  to  any  one  to  add  to  the 
answer :  "  Yes,  hut  without  the  intention  of  killing" 

Nekhlyiidov  was  so  agitated  that  he  did  not  notice 
that.  In  this  form  the  answers  were  written  down  and 
taken  back  to  the  court-room. 

Eabelais  tells  of  a  jurist,  to  whom  people  had  come  in 
a  lawsuit,  and  who,  after  having  pointed  out  all  kinds 
of  laws,  and  having  read  twenty  pages  of  senseless  jurid- 
ical Latin,  proposed  to  the  contending  parties  to  cast  dice : 
if  they  fell  even,  the  plaintiff  was  right;  if  odd,  the 
defendant  was  right. 

Thus  it  happened  here.  This  or  that  verdict  had  been 
accepted,  not  because  all  had  agreed  to  it,  but,  in  the  first 
place,  because  the  presiding  judge,  who  had  made  such  a 
long  r6sum6,  had  forgotten  upon  that  occasion  to  say 
what  he  always  said,  namely,  that  they  might  answer  the 
question :  "  Yes,  guilty,  but  without  the  intention  of  kill- 
ing ; "  secondly,  because  the  colonel  had  told  a  long  and  tire- 
some story  about  his  brother-in-law's  wife  ;  thirdly,  because 
Nekhlyiidov  had  been  so  agitated  that  he  did  not  notice 
the  omission  of  the  clause  about  the  absence  of  any  inten- 
tion to  kill,  and  because  he  thought  that  the  clause, 
"  without  any  premeditated  murder,"  annulled  the  accu- 
sation :  fourthly,  because  Peter  Gerasimovich  did  not 
happen  to  be  in  the  room  —  he  had  gone  out  —  when 
the  foreman  reread  the  questions  and  answers ;  and, 
chiefly,  because  everybody  was  tired,  and  all  wanted  to 
be  free  as  soon  as  possible,  and  therefore  agreed  to  a  vei' 
diet  which  would  bring  everything  to  an  end. 

The  jury  rang  the  bell.  The  gendarme,  who  was 
standing  at  the  door  with  the  unsheathed  sword,  put  it 
back  into  the  scabbard  and  stepped  aside.  The  judges 
took  their  seats,  and  the  jurors  filed  out  from  the 
room. 

The  foreman  carried  the  sheet  with  a  solemn  look. 
He  went  up  to  the  presiding  judge,  and  gave  it  to  him. 


RESURRECTION         "  123 

The  presiding  judge  read  it,  and,  evidently  surprised, 
waved  his  hands  and  turned  to  the  members,  to  consult 
with  them.  The  presiding  judge  was  surprised  to  find  that 
the  jury  had  modified  the  first  condition,  by  making  it, 
"  Without  the  intention  of  robbing,"  while  they  had  not 
equally  modified  the  second,  by  saying, "  Without  the  in- 
tention of  killing."  It  now  turned  out  that  Maslova  had 
not  stolen,  not  robted,  and  yet  had  poisoned  a  man  with- 
out any  evident  cause. 

"  See  what  absurdity  they  have  brought  here,"  he  said 
to  the  member  on  the  left.  "  This  means  hard  labour, 
and  she  is  not  guilty." 

"  Why  not  guilty  ? "  said  the  stern  member. 

"  Simply  not  guilty.  In  my  opinion  this  case  is  pro- 
vided for  in  Statute  817."  (This  statute  says  that  if  a 
court  finds  the  accusation  unjust,  it  may  set  aside  the 
jury's  verdict.) 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? "  said  the  presiding  judge, 
turning  to  the  kind  member. 

The  kind  member  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  looked 
at  the  number  of  the  document  which  was  lying  before 
him,  and  it  would  not  divide  by  three.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  should  be  with  him  if  the  number  would 
be  divisible ;  notwithstanding  this,  he,  in  the  goodness  of 
his  heart,  agreed  with  him. 

"  I  think  myself  this  ought  to  be  done,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  ? "  the  judge  turned  to  the  angry  member. 

"  On  no  condition,"  he  answered,  firmly.  "  The  papers 
are  saying,  as  it  is,  that  the  juries  acquit  the  criminals. 
I  sha'n't  agree  to  it  under  any  circumstances." 

The  presiding  judge  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  what  is  to  be  done  ? "  and  he  handed 
the  list  to  the  foreman  to  read. 

All  arose,  and  the  foreman,  resting  now  on  one  foot 
and  now  on  the  other,  cleared  his  throat,  and  read  the 
questions  and  answers.    All  the  judicial  persons,  the  secre- 


124  *  KESUKRECTION 

tary,  the  lawyers,  even  the  prosecuting  attorney,  expressed 
their  surprise. 

The  defendants  sat  unperturbed,  obviously  not  under- 
standing the  purport  of  the  answers.  Again,  all  sat  down, 
and  the  presiding  judge  asked  the  prosecuting  attorney 
to  what  punishment  he  proposed  to  subject  the  defend- 
ants. 

The  prosecuting  attorney,  delighted  at  the  unexpected 
turn  which  Maslova's  case  had  taken,  and  ascribiag  this 
success  to  his  eloquence,  looked  up  some  points,  rose,  and 
said : 

"  Simon  Kartinkiu  ought  to  be  subjected  to  punish- 
ment on  the  basis  of  article  1,452  and  paragraph  four  of 
article  1,453 ;  Evfimiya  B6chkova  on  the  basis  of  article 
1,659 ;  and  Katerina  Maslova  on  the  basis  of  article 
1,454." 

All  these  punishments  were  the  severest  which  it  was 
possible  to  mete  out. 

"  The  court  will  withdraw  for  the  purpose  of  arriving 
at  a  sentence,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  rising. 

All  arose  at  the  same  time,  and,  with  the  relief  and 
the  agreeable  sensation  of  a  well- performed  good  work, 
began  to  leave  the  room,  or  to  move  up  and  down. 

"  My  friend,  we  have  done  a  shameful  piece  of  busi- 
ness," said  Peter  Gerasimovich,  walking  up  to  Nekhlyiidov, 
to  whom  the  foreman  was  telling  something.  "  We  have 
sent  her  to  hard  labour." 

"  You  don't  say  ? "  cried  Nekhlyudov,  this  time  not 
taking  notice  at  all  of  the  teacher's  disagreeable  famil- 
iarity. 

"  Precisely  so,"  he  said.  "  We  did  not  put  down  in  the 
answer,  '  Guilty,  but  without  the  intention  of  killing.' 
The  secretary  has  just  told  me  that  the  prosecuting 
attorney  is  giving  her  fifteen  years  of  hard  labour." 

"  That's  the  way  we  gave  the  verdict,"  said  the  fore- 
man. 


RESURRECTION  125 

Peter  Gerasimovich  began  to  argue  with  him,  saying 
that  it  was  self-evident  that  if  she  did  not  steal  the 
money,  she  could  not  have  had  the  intention  of  killing 
him. 

"  But  did  I  not  read  the  answers  before  coming  out  ? " 
the  foreman  justified  himself.     "  Nobody  contradicted." 

"  I  was  not  in  the  room  at  that  time,"  said  Peter 
Gerasimovich.     "  But  how  is  it  you  were  napping  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  imagine  it  was  that  way,"  said  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

"  This  comes  from  not  imagining." 

"  But  this  can  be  corrected,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  No,  now  everything  is  ended." 

Nekhlyudov  looked  at  the  defendants.  They,  whose 
fate  was  being  decided,  sat  just  as  motionless  behind  the 
screen,  in  front  of  the  soldiers.  Maslova  was  smiling  at 
something.  An  evil  feeling  began  to  stir  in  Nekhlyiidov's 
breast.  Before  this,-  while  he  saw  her  acquittal  and  so- 
journ in  the  city,  he  had  been  undecided  as  to  how  to  act 
toward  her.  In  any  case,  his  relations  with  her  would 
have  been  difficult ;  but  now,  the  hard  labour  and  Siberia 
at  once  destroyed  every  possibility  of  any  relations  with 
her.  The  wounded  bird  would  stop  fluttering  in  the 
game-bag  and  reminding  him  of  itself. 


XXIV. 

Peter  Gerasimovich's  suppositions  were  correct. 

Upon  returning  from  tlie  consultation-room,  the  pre- 
siding judge  took  the  paper  and  read  : 

"  On  April  28,  188-,  by  order  of  his  Imperial  High- 
ness   N ,    the    criminal    department    of   the    Circuit 

Court,  by  virtue  of  the  jury's  verdict,  and  on  the  basis  of 
par.  3,  art.  771,  par.  3,  art.  776,  and  art.  777  of  the  Code 
of  Crim.  Jur.,  has  decreed :  Peasant  Simon  Kartiukin, 
thirty-three  years  of  age,  and  Burgess  Kateriua  Maslova, 
twenty-seven  years  of  age,  to  be  deprived  of  all  civil 
rights,  and  to  be  sent  to  hard  labour :  Kartiukin  for 
the  period,  of  eight  years,  and  Maslova  for  four  years, 
with  the  consequences  incident  thereupon  according  to 
art.  25  of  the  Statutes.  But  Burgess  Evfimiya  Bochkova, 
forty-three  years  of  age,  to  be  deprived  of  all  special 
rights,  both  personal  and  civil,  and  of  all -privileges,  to  be 
incarcerated  in  prison,  for  the  period  of  three  years,  with 
the  consequences  incident  thereupon  according  to  art.  48 
of  the  Statutes.  The  expenses  of  the  court  incurred  in 
this  case  to  be  borne  in  equal  parts  by  all  the  defendants, 
and  in  case  of  their  inability  to  meet  them  to  be  paid  by 
the  Crown. 

"  The  exhibits  presented  in  the  case  to  be  sold,  the 
ring  to  be  returned,  and  the  jars  to  be  destroyed." 

Kartinkin  stood  as  erect  as  before,  holding  his  hands 
with  their  spreading  fingers  down  his  sides,  and  moving 
his  cheeks.  Bochkova  seemed  to  be  quite  calm.  Upon 
hearing  her  sentence,  Maslova  grew  red  in  her  face. 

"  I  am  not  guilty,  I  am  not  guilty ! "  she  suddenly 

126 


RESURRECTION  127 

shouted  through  the  court-room.  "  This  is  a  sin.  I  am 
not  guilty.  I  had  no  intention,  no  thought  of  doing 
wrong.  I  am  telHng  the  truth !  The  truth ! "  And, 
letting  herself  down  on  the  bench,  she  sobbed  out  aloud. 

When  Kartinkin  and  Bochkova  left,  she  still  remained 
sitting  in  one  spot  and  weeping,  so  that  the  gendarme 
had  to  touch  her  by  the  elbow  of  her  cloak. 

"  No,  it  is  impossible  to  leave  it  thus,"  Nekhlyudov 
said  to  himself,  entirely  forgetful  of  his  evil  feeling,  and, 
without  knowing  why,  rusbing  out  into  the  corridor,  in 
order  to  get  another  glimpse  of  her. 

Through  the  door  pressed  the  animated  throng  of  the 
jurors  and  lawyers,  satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  case, 
so  that  he  was  kept  for  several  minutes  near  the  door. 
When  he  came  out  into  the  corridor,  she  was  far  away. 
With  rapid  steps,  and  without  thinking  of  the  attention 
which  he  was  attracting,  he  caught  up  with  her,  and, 
going  beyond,  he  stopped.  She  had  ceased  weeping,  and 
only  sobbed  fitfully,  wiping  her  flushed  face  with  the  end 
of  the  kerchief ;  she  passed  beyond  him,  without  looking 
around.  After  she  was  gone,  he  hurriedly  went  back,  in 
order  to  see  the  presiding  judge,  but  the  judge  had  just 
left,  and  he  ran  after  him  and  found  him  in  the  vestibule. 

"  Judge,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  approaching  him  just  as  he 
had  donned  his  bright  overcoat  and  had  taken  from  the 
porter  his  silver-kuobbed  cane,  "  may  I  speak  with  you 
about  the  case  which  has  just  been  tried  ?  I  was  one  of 
the  jurors." 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Prince  Nekhlyudov  !  Very  happy,  we 
have  met  before,"  said  the  presiding  judge,  pressing  his 
hand  at  the  pleasant  recollection  of  how  well  and  gaily 
and  how  much  better  than  many  a  young  man  he  had 
danced  on  the  evening  of  his  first  meeting  with  Nekh- 
lyudov.    "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  misunderstanding  in  the  answer  in 
regard  to  Maslova.     She  is  not  guilty  of  poisonino-,  and 


128  RESURRECTION 

yet  she  has  been  sentenced  to  hard  labour,"  Nekhlyiidov 
said,  with  a  concentrated  and  gloomy  look. 

"  The  court  has  passed  sentence  according  to  the  an- 
swers which  you  have  handed  in,"  said  the  presiding 
judge,  moving  toward  the  entrance  door,  "  even  though 
the  answers  seemed  to  the  court  not  to  be  relevant  to  the 
case." 

He  recalled  that  he  had  intended  to  explain  to  the  jury 
that  their  answer,  "  Yes,  guilty,"  without  a  specific  denial 
of  intentional  murder,  only  confirmed  the  murder  with 
the  intention,  but  that,  in  his  hurry,  he  had  forgotten  to 
do  so. 

"  Yes  ;  but  cannot  the  error  be  corrected  ? " 

"A  cause  for  annulment  may  always  be  found.  One 
must  consult  the  lawyers,"  said  the  presiding  judge, 
putting  on  his  hat  somewhat  jauntily,  and  moving  up 
toward  the  door. 

"  But  this  is  terrible." 

"  You  see,  one  of  two  things  could  have  happened  to 
Maslova,"  said  the  presiding  judge,  wishing  to  be  as 
agreeable  and  polite  to  Nekhlyiidov  as  possible ;  he 
straightened  out  all  his  whiskers  above  the  collar  of  his 
overcoat,  and,  slightly  linking  his  hand  in  Nekhlyiidov's 
arm,  continued,  on  his  way  to  the  door :  "  You  are  going 
out,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  swiftly  putting  on  his  coat, 
and  going  out  with  him. 

They  came  out  into  the  bright,  cheering  sun,  and  it 
became  necessary  to  speak  louder,  in  order  to  be  heard 
above  the  rattling  of  the  wheels  on  the  pavement. 

"  The  situation,  you  see,  is  a  strange  one,"  continued 
the  presiding  judge,  raising  his  voice.  "  One  of  the  two 
things  could  have  happened  to  her,  I  mean  Maslova : 
either  almost  an  acquittal,  with  incarceration  in  a  prison, 
from  which  might  have  been  deducted  the  time  already 
passed   in   jail,  or   merely  an   arrest,  or  otherwise  hard 


RESURRECTION  129 

labour,  —  there  was  nothing  between  these  two.     If  you  ^ 
had    added    the    words,    *  but    without  the   intention    of 
causing  death,'  she  would  have  been  acquitted." 

"  It  is  inexcusable  in  me  to  have  omitted  them,"  said 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  That's  where  the  trouble  is,"  said  the  presiding  judge, 
smiling,  and  looking  at  his  watch. 

There  were  only  forty-five  minutes  left  to  the  latest 
hour  appointed  by  Klara. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  invoke  a  lawyer's  aid.  You  must  find 
cause  for  annulment.  It  is  always  possible  to  find  such. 
To  the  Dvoryanskaya,"  he  said  to  a  cabman;  "thirty 
kopeks,  —  I  never  pay  more  than  that." 

"  If  you  please,  your  Excellency." 

"  My  regards  to  you.  If  I  can  be  useful  to  you,  call  at 
Dvornikov's  house,  on  the  Dvoryanskaya,  —  that  is  easily 
remembered." 

And,  bowing  graciously,  he  drove  o£f. 


XXV. 

The  conversation  with  the  presiding  judge  and  the 
fresh  air  somewhat  calmed  Nekhlyiidov.  He  now  con- 
cluded that  the  sensation  experienced  by  him  was  ex- 
aggerated by  his  having  passed  the  whole  morning  under 
such  unaccustomed  circumstances. 

"  Of  course,  it  is  a  remarkable  and  striking  coincidence  ! 
I  must  do  everything  in  my  power  to  alleviate  her  condi- 
tion, and  I  must  do  so  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  — 
at  once.  I  must  find  out  in  the  court-house  where 
Fanarin  or  Mikishin  lives."  He  recalled  the  names  of 
these  two  famous  lawyers. 

Nekhlyudov  returned  to  the  court-house,  took  off  his 
overcoat,  and  went  up-stairs.  He  met  Fauarin  in  the 
first  corridor.  He  stopped  him,  aud  told  him  that  he 
had  some  business  with  him.  Fanarin  knew  him  by 
sight  and  by  name,  aud  said  that  he  would  be  happy  to 
be  useful  to  him. 

"  Although  I  am  tired  —  but  if  it  will  not  take  you 
long,  tell  me  your  business,  —  come  this  way." 

Fanarin  led  Nekhlyudov  into  a  room,  very  likely  the 
private  cabinet  of  some  judge.  They  sat  down  at  the 
table. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  about  ? " 

"  First  of  all  I  shall  ask  you,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  "  not 
to  let  anybody  know  that  I  am  taking  any  interest  in 
this  matter." 

"  That  is  self-understood.     And  —  " 

"  I  served  on  the  jury  to-day,  and  we  sentenced  an 
innocent   woman    to   hard    labour.     This   torments   me." 

130 


RESURRECTION  131 

Nekhlyuclov  blushed,  quite  unexpectedly  to  himself,  and 
hesitated.  Fanariu  flashed  his  eyes  upon  him  and  again 
lowered  them,  and  listened. 

"  Well  ? "   was  all  he  said. 

"  We  have  sentenced  an  innocent  woman,  and  I  should 
like  to  have  the  judgment  annulled  and  carried  to  a 
higher  court." 

"  To  the  Senate,"  Fanarin  corrected  him. 

"  And  so  I  ask  you  to  take  the  case." 

Nekhlyiidov  wanted  to  get  over  the  most  difficult  point 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  so  he  said,  blushing : 

"  I  shall  bear  the  expenses  in  this  case,  whatever  they 
may  be." 

"  Well,  we  shall  come  to  an  understanding  about  that," 
said  the  lawyer,  with  a  smile  of  condescension  at  his 
inexperience. 

"  What  case  is  it  ? " 

Nekhlyudov  told  him. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  take  it  up  to-morrow,  and  look  it 
over.  And  the  day  after  to-morrow  —  no,  on  Thursday, 
come  to  see  me  at  six  o'clock,  and  I  shall  have  an  answer 
for  you.  Is  that  all  right  ?  Come,  let  us  go,  I  have  to 
make  some  inquiries  yet." 

Nekhlyudov  said  good-bye  to  him  and  went  away. 

His  conversation  with  the  lawyer  and  the  fact  that  he 
had  taken  measures  for  Maslova's  defence  calmed  him 
still  more.  He  went  out.  The  weather  was  beautiful, 
and  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  breathe  the  vernal  air.  The 
cabmen  offered  him  their  services,  but  he  went  on  foot. 
A  whole  swarm  of  thoughts  and  recollections  in  regard  to  ■ 
Katyusha  and  to  his  treatment  of  her  at  once  began  to 
whirl  around  in  his  mind,  and  he  felt  melancholy,  and 
everything  looked  gloomy.  "  No,  I  will  consider  that 
later,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  now  I  must  divert  my 
mind  from  these  heavy  impressions." 

He  thought  of  the  dinner  at  the  Korchagins,  and  looked 


132  KESURRECTION 

at  his  watch.  It  was  not  yet  late,  and  he  could  get  there 
in  time.  A  tramway  car  was  tinkling  past  him.  He  ran 
and  caught  it.  At  the  square  he  leaped  down  and  took 
a  good  cab,  and  ten  minutes  later  he  was  at  the  entrance 
of  the  large  house  of  the  Korchagins, 


XXVI. 

"  Please,  your  Serenity !  They  are  expecting  you," 
said  the  kindly,  stout  porter  of  the  large  house  of  the 
Korchagins,  opening  the  oak  door  of  the  entrance,  which 
moved  noiselessly  on  its  English  hinges.  "  They  are  at 
dinner,  but  I  was  ordered  to  ask  you  to  come  in." 

The  porter  went  up  to  the  staircase  and  rang  a  bell. 

"  Is  anybody  there  ? "  asked  Nekhlyiidov,  taking  off  his 
overcoat, 

"Mr.  Kolosov  and  Mikhail  Sergy^evich,  and  the 
family,"  answered  the  porter. 

A  fine-looking  lackey,  in  dress  coat  and  white  gloves, 
looked  down-stairs. 

"  Please,  your  Serenity,"  he  said,  « I  am  told  to  ask 
you  in." 

Nekhlyudov  ascended  the  staircase  and  through  the 
familiar,  luxurious,  and  spacious  parlour  passed  to  the 
dining-room.  Here  the  whole  family  was  sitting  at 
the  table,  excepting  the  mother.  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna, 
who  never  left  her  cabinet.  At  the  head  of  the  table 
sat  the  elder  Korchagin  ;  next  to  him,  to  the  left,  was 
the  doctor;  to  the  right,  a  guest,  Ivan  Ivanovich  Kolo- 
sov, formerly  a  Government  marshal  of  the  nobility,  and 
now  a  director  of  a  bank,  a  liberal  comrade  of  Korcha- 
gin's ;  then,  on  the  left,  Miss  Eedder,  the  governess  of 
Missy's  little  sister,  with  the  four-year-old  girl;  on  the 
right,  exactly  opposite,  was  Missy's  brother,  the  only  son 
of  the  Korchagins,  a  gymnasiast  of  the  sixth  form,  P^tya, 
for  whose  sake  the  whole  family  was  still  staying  in  the 
city,  waiting  for  his  examinations,  and  his  tutor ;  then,  on 

133 


134  RESUERECTION 

the  left,  Katerina  Aleksy^evna,  an  old  maid  forty  years  of 
age,  who  was  a  Slavophile ;  opposite  her,  Mikhail  Sergy^- 
evich,  or  Misha  Tely^gin,  Missy's  cousin,  and  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  table,  Missy  herself,  and,  near  her,  an  untouched 
cover. 

"  Now,  that's  nice.  Sit  down,  —  we  are  just  at  the 
fish,"  said  the  elder  Korchagin,  carefully  and  with  diffi- 
culty chewing  with  his  false  teeth,  and  raising  his  suf- 
fused, apparently  lidless  eyes. 

"  Stepan,"  he  turned,  with  his  full  mouth,  to  the  stout, 
majestic  butler,  indicating  wuth  his  eyes  the  empty 
plate.  Although  Nekhlyiidov  was  well  acquainted  with 
old  Korchagin,  and  had  often  seen  him,  especially  at  din- 
ner, he  never  before  had  been  so  disagreeably  impressed 
by  his  red  face,  with  his  sensual,  smacking  lips,  with  his 
napkin  stuck  into  his  vest,  and  by  his  fat  neck,  —  in 
general,  by  his  whole  pampered  military  figure. 

Nekhlyiidov  involuntarily  recalled  everything  he  had 
heard  of  the  cruelty  of  this  man,  who,  God  knows  why, 
—  for  he  was  rich  and  of  distinguished  birth,  and  did  not 
need  to  earn  recognition  by  zealous  service,  —  had  had 
people  flogged  and  even  hanged  when  he  had  been  the 
chief  officer  of  a  territory. 

"  He  will  be  served  at  once,  your  Serenity,"  said  Stepan, 
taking  from  the  buffet,  which  was  filled  with  silver  vases, 
a  large  soup-ladle,  and  nodding  to  the  fine-looking  lackey 
with  the  whiskers ;  the  lackey  at  once  arranged  the  un- 
touched cover  near  Missy's,  on  which  lay  a  quaintly  folded 
starched  napkin  with  a  huge  coat  of  arms. 

Nekhlyiidov  walked  all  around  the  table,  pressing  every- 
body's hands.  All  but  old  Korchagin  and  the  ladies  rose 
when  he  came  near  them.  On  that  evening  the  walking 
around  the  table  and  the  pressing  of  the  hands  of  all  per- 
sons present,  though  with  some  of  them  he  never  exchanged 
any  words,  seemed  to  him  particularly  disagreeable  and 
ridiculous.     He  excused  himself  for  being  so  late,  and  was 


KESUKRECTION  135 

on  the  point  of  seating  himself  on  the  unoccupied  chair, 
when  old  Korchagin  insisted  that,  even  if  he  did  not  take 
any  brandy,  he  should  take  an  appetizer  from  the  table  on 
which  stood  lobsters,  caviare,  various  kinds  of  cheese,  and 
herrings.  Nekhlyudov  did  not  know  he  was  so  hungry, 
but  when  he  started  on  a  piece  of  cheese  sandwich  he 
could  not  stop,  and  ate  with  zest. 

"  Well,  have  you  loosened  the  foundations  ?  "  said  K6- 
losov,  ironically  quoting  an  expression  of  a  retrograde 
paper  which  was  opposed  to  trial  by  jury.  "  Have  you 
acquitted  the  guilty,  and  sentenced  the  innocent  ?    Yes  ?  " 

"  Loosened  the  foundations  —  loosened  the  founda- 
tions — "  laughingly  repeated  the  prince,  who  had  an 
unbounded  confidence  in  the  wit  and  learning  of  his  lib- 
eral comrade  and  friend. 

Nekhlyudov,  at  the  risk  of  being  impolite,  did  not 
answer  Kolosov,  and,  sitting  down  to  the  plate  of  steam- 
ing soup  which  had  been  served  to  him,  continued  to 
munch  his  sandwich. 

"  Let  him  eat,"  Missy  said,  smiling ;  she  used  the  pro- 
noun "  him  "  in  order  to  point  out  her  intimacy  with  him. 

Kolosov,  in  the  meantime,  proceeded,  in  a  loud  and 
brisk  voice,  to  give  the  contents  of  the  article  attacking 
the  trial  by  jury  which  had  so  exasperated  him.  Mi- 
khail Sergy^evich,  the  nephew,  agreed  with  him,  and  gave 
the  contents  of  another  article  in  the  same  paper. 

Missy  was  very  dtstinguec,  as  always,  and  well,  unos- 
tentatiously well  dressed. 

"  You  must  be  dreadfully  tired  and  hungry,"  she  said  to 
Nekhlyudov,  when  he  had  finished  chewing.    - 

"  No,  not  very.  And  you  ?  Did  you  go  to  see  the 
pictures  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No,  we  have  put  it  off.  We  were  out  playing  lawn- 
tennis  with  the  Salamantovs.  Eeally,  Mr.  Crooks  plays  a 
marvellous  game." 

Nekhlyudov  had  come  here  to  divert  his  mind  ;  it  was 


136  RESURRECTION 

always  pleasant  for  him  iu  that  house,  not  only  on  account 
of  that  good  taste  in  luxury  which  agreeably  affected  his 
feelings,  but  also  on  account  of  that  atmosphere  of  insinu- 
ating kindness  with  which  he  was  imperceptibly  surrounded 
here.  But,  strange  to  say,  on  that  evening  everything  in 
that  house  was  distasteful  to  him,  everything,  beginning 
with  the  porter,  the  broad  staircase,  the  flowers,  the 
lackeys,  the  setting  of  the  table,  to  Missy  herself,  who  now 
appeared  unattractive  and  unnatural  to  him.  He  was  also 
disgusted  with  that  self-confident,  mean,  hberalizing  tone 
of  Kolosov ;  he  was  disgusted  with  the  ox-hke,  self-confi- 
dent, sensual  figure  of  old  Korchagin ;  he  was  disgusted 
with  the  French  phrases  of  the  Slavophile  Katerina  Alek- 
sy^evna ;  he  was  disgusted  with  the  repressed  countenances 
of  the  governess  and  the  tutor ;  and  he  was  particularly 
disgusted  with  the  pronoun  "  him,"  which  had  been  used 
in  regard  to  himself. 

Nekhlyiidov  always  wavered  between  two  relations  with 
Missy :  now  he  saw  her  as  though  with  blinking  eyes,  or 
as  if  in  the  moonlight,  and  everything  in  her  was  beauti- 
ful; she  seemed  to  liim  fresh,  and  beautiful,  and  clever, 
and  natural.  Then  again,  he  saw  her  as  though  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  and  he  could  not  help  noticing  her  de- 
fects. That  evening  was  just  such  an  occasion.  He  now 
saw  all  the  wrinkles  on  her  face ;  he  knew  that  her  hair 
was  artificially  puffed  out ;  he  saw  the  angularity  of  her 
elbows,  and,  above  everything  else,  observed  the  wide  nail 
of  her  thumb,  which  reminded  him  of  her  father's  thumb- 
nails. 

"  It  is  an  exceedingly  dull  game,"  Kolosov  remarked 
about  the  tennis.  "  The  ball  game  we  used  to  play  in  our 
childhood  was  much  more  fun." 

"  You  have  not  tried  it.  It  is  awfully  attractive,"  re- 
torted Missy,  pronouncing  with  particular  unnaturalness 
the  word  "  awfully,"  as  Nekhlyildov  thought. 

And  then  began  a  discussion  in  which  also  Mikhail 


RESURRECTION  137 

Sergy^evich  and  Katerina  Aleksy^evna  took  part.  Only 
the  governess,  the  tutor,  and  the  children  were  silent  and, 
evidently,  felt  ennui. 

"  Quarrelling  all  the  time  ! "  exclaimed  old  Korchdgin, 
bursting  out  into  a  guffaw ;  he  took  the  napkin  out  from 
his  vest,  and,  rattling  his  chair,  which  the  lackey  immedi- 
ately took  away,  rose  from  table.  All  the  others  got  up 
after  him  and  went  up  to  a  small  table,  where  stood  the 
finger-bowls,  filled  with  warm  scented  water ;  they  wiped 
their  mouths  and  continued  the  conversation,  which  did 
not  interest  anybody. 

"Am  I  not  right?"  Missy  turned  to  Nekhlyiidov, 
trying  to  elicit  a  confirmation  of  her  opinion  that  a  man's 
character  is  nowhere  manifested  so  well  as  at  a  game. 
She  had  noticed  in  his  face  that  concentrated  and,  as  she 
thought,  condemnatory  expression  of  which  she  was  afraid, 
and  wanted  to  know  what  it  was  that  had  caused  it. 

"  Eeally,  I  do  not  know ;  I  have  never  thought  about 
it,"  replied  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Will  you  go  to  see  mamma  ? "  asked  Missy. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  taking  out  a  cigarette,  and  in  a 
tone  which  manifestly  meant  that  he  should  prefer  not 
to  go. 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence,  with  a  questioning  glance, 
and  he  felt  ashamed.  "  How  mean  !  To  call  on  people 
in  order  to  make  them  feel  bad,"  he  thought  about  him- 
self, and,  trying  to  say  something  agreeable,  announced 
that  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  go,  if  the  princess 
would  receive  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  mamma  will  be  happy.  You  may  smoke 
there.     Ivan  Ivanovich  is  there,  too." 

The  lady  of  the  house.  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna,  was 
a  bedridden  woman.  For  the  last  eight  years  she  had 
received  her  guests  while  lying  in  bed,  amidst  laces  and 
ribbons,  amidst  velvet,  gold  tinsel,  ivory,  bronze,  lacquer, 
and  flowers ;  she  did  not  drive  out,  and  received  only  her 


138  RESURRECTION 

"  own  friends,"  as  she  expressed  herself ;  that  is,  all  such 
people  as  stood  out  from  the  crowd.  Nekhlyiidov  was 
among  these  select  people,  because  she  regarded  him  as  a 
clever  young  man,  because  he  and  his  mother  were  near 
friends  of  the  house,  and  because  it  would  be  well  if 
Missy  married  him. 

The  room  of  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna  was  beyond  the 
large  and  small  drawing-rooms,  lu  the  large  drawing- 
room,  Missy,  who  preceded  Nekhlyiidov,  suddenly  stopped 
and,  holding  on  to  the  back  of  a  gilt  chair,  looked  straight 
at  him. 

Missy  was  very  anxious  to  get  married,  and  Nekhlyii- 
dov was  a  good  match.  Besides,  she  liked  him,  and  had 
accustomed  herself  to  the  idea  that  he  would  belong  to 
her  (not  that  she  would  belong  to  him,  but  he  to  her), 
and  she  reached  out  for  her  goal  with  unconscious,  but 
persistent  cunning,  such  as  the  insane  are  possessed  of. 
She  said  something  to  him  in  order  to  elicit  an  explanation 
from  him. 

"  I  see  that  something  has  happened  to  you,"  she  said. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? " 

He  recalled  the  incident  in  the  court-room,  frowned, 
and  blushed. 

"  Yes,  something  has  happened,"  he  said,  trying  to  be 
truthful ;  "  a  strange,  unusual,  and  important  thing." 

«  What  is  it  ?     Can't  you  tell  it  ? " 

"  Not  now.  Permit  me  not  to  mention  it.  Something 
has  happened  which  I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  reflect 
upon,"  he  said,  and  his  face  became  even  redder. 

"  And  you  will  not  tell  me  ? "  A  muscle  on  her  face 
quivered,  and  she  moved  the  chair  to  which  she  was  hold- 
ing on. 

"  No,  I  cannot,"  he  answered,  feeling  that  in  answering 
her  he  was  answering  himself,  and  confessing  that  really 
something  important  had  happened  to  him. 

"  Well,  let  us  go." 


RESUKRECTION  139 

She  tossed  her  head,  as  if  to  drive  away  importunate 
thouglits,  and  walked  on  with  faster  steps  than  usual. 

It  appeared  to  him  that  she  compressed  her  lips  in  an 
unnatural  manner,  as  though  to  keep  back  tears.  He  felt 
ashamed  and  pained  at  having  grieved  her,  but  he  knew 
that  the  least  weakness  would  ruin  him,  that  is,  it  would 
bind  him.  And  on  that  evening  he  was  afraid  of  it  more 
than  ever,  and  so  he  reached  the  princess's  cabinet  with 
her  in  silence. 


XXVII. 

Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna  had  finished  her  very 
refined  and  nourishing  dinner,  which  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  eating  all  alone,  in  order  that  she  might  not  be  seen 
at  that  unpoetical  function.  Near  her  lounge  stood  a 
small  table  with  coffee,  and  she  was  smoking  a  cigarette. 
Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna  was  a  lean,  haggard  brunette, 
with  large  teeth  and  big  black  eyes,  who  was  trying  to 
appear  young.  • 

There  was  a  rumour  about  her  having  certain  relations 
with  her  doctor.  On  previous  occasions  Nekhlyudov 
generally  forgot  about  this  ;  on  that  evening  he  not  only 
thought  of  it,  but,  when  he  saw  near  her  chair  the  doctor, 
with  his  pomaded,  shining  forked  beard,  he  was  overcome 
by  loathing. 

At  Sofya  Vasilevna's  side,  on  a  soft  low  armchair,  sat 
Kolosov  near  the  table,  stirring  his  coffee.  On  the  table 
stood  a  wine-glass  with  liqueur. 

Missy  entered  with  Nekhlyudov,  but  did  not  remain 
in  the  room. 

"  When  mamma  gets  tired  and  drives  you  away,  come 
to  me,"  she  said,  turning  to  Kolosov  and  Nekhlyudov,  in 
such  a  tone  as  though  nothing  had  happened  between 
them,  and,  with  a  merry  smile,  inaudibly  stepping  over 
the  heavy  rug,  went  out  of  the  room. 

"  Good  evening,  my  friend !  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all 
about  it,"  said  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna  with  an  artificial, 
feigned  smile,  which  remarkably  resembled  a  real  smile, 
and  showing  her  beautiful  large  teeth,  which  were  as 
artistically  made  as  though  they  were  natural.     "  I  am 

140 


RESURRECTION  141 

told  that  you  have  come  from  court  in  a  very  gloomy 
mood.  This  must  be  very  hard  for  people  with  a  heart," 
she  said  in  French. 

"  Yes,  that  is  so,"  said  Nekhlyiidov.  "  One  often  feels 
his  in —  One  feels  that  one  has  no  right  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment." 

"  Comme  c'est  vrai,"  she  exclaimed,  as  though  struck 
by  the  truth  of  his  remark,  and,  as  always,  artfully  flatter- 
ing .her  interlocutor. 

"  Well,  how  is  your  picture  getting  on  ?  —  it  interests 
me  very  much,"  she  added.  "  If  it  were  not  for  my 
ailment,  I  should  have  gone  long  ago  to  see  it." 

"I  have 'given  it  up  altogether,"  dryly  replied  Nekh- 
lyiidov, to  whom  the  insincerity  of  her  flattery  was  now 
as  manifest  as  her  old  age,  which  she  was  trying  to 
conceal.  He  was  absolutely  unable  to  attune  himself 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  pleasant. 

"  I  am  sorry.  Do  you  know,  Eyepnin  himself  told  me 
that  he  has  positive  talent,"  she  said,  turning  to  Kolosov. 

"  How  unashamed  of  lying  she  is,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov, 
frowning. 

Having  convinced  herself  that  Nekhlyiidov  was  not 
in  a  good  humour  and  that  it  was  not  possible  to  draw 
him  into  a  pleasant  and  clever  conversation,  Sofya  Vasi- 
levna  turned  to  Kolosov,  asking  for  his  opinion  about  the 
latest  drama,  in  such  a  tone  as  though  Kolosov's  opinion 
was  to  solve  all  doubts,  and  as  though  every  word  of 
that  opinion  was  to  be  eternalized.  Kolosov  condemned 
the  drama,  and  used  this  opportunity  to  expatiate  on  his 
conceptions  of  art.  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna  expressed 
surprise  at  the  correctness  of  his  views,  tried  to  defend 
the  author  of  the  drama,  but  immediately  surrendered  her- 
self, or  found  some  compromise.  Nekhlyiidov  was  looking 
and  hearing,  but  he  saw  and  heard  something  different 
from  what  was  going  on  in  front  of  him. 

Listening  to  Sofya  Vasilevna  and  to  Kolosov,  Nekh- 


142  EESURRECTION 

lyudov  observed  that  neither  Sofya  Vasilevna  nor  Kolosov 
had  the  least  interest  in  the  drama,  or  in  each  other,  and 
that  they  were  conversmg  only  to  satisfy  a  physiological 
necessity  of  moving  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  and  throat 
after  dinner ;  secondly,  that  Kolosov,  having  drunk  brandy, 
wine,  and  liqueur,  was  a  little  intoxicated,  —  not  as 
intoxicated  as  peasants  are  who  drink  at  rare  intervals, 
but  as  people  are  who  make  a  habit  of  drinking  wine. 
He  did  not  sway,  nor  say  foolish  things,  but  was  in  an 
abnormal,  excitedly  self-satisfied  condition ;  in  the  third 
place,  Nekhlyiidov  noticed  that  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna 
during  the  conversation  restlessly  looked  at  the  window, 
through  which  fell  upon  her  the  slanting  rays' of  the  sun, 
for  fear  that  too  strong  a  light  might  be  shed  on  her  old 
age. 

"  How  true  that  is,"  she  said  about  a  remark  of 
Kdlosov's,  and  pressed  a  button  in  the  wall  near  the 
lounge. 

Just  then  the  doctor  arose,  and,  being  a  famihar  friend, 
went  out  of  the  room  without  saying  a  word.  Sofya 
Vasilevna  followed  him  with  her  eyes,  continuing  to 
speak. 

"  Please,  Filipp,  let  down  this  curtain,"  she  said,  indicat- 
ing with  her  eyes  the  curtain  of  the  window,  when  the 
fine-looking  lackey  had  come  in  in  answer  to  the  bell. 

"  You  may  say  as  you  please,  but  there  is  something 
mystical  in  him,  and  without  mysticism  there  can  be 
no  poetry,"  she  said,  angrily  watching  with  one  black 
eye  the  movement  of  the  lackey  who  was  fixing  the 
curtain. 

"  Mysticism  without  poetry  is  superstition,  and  poetry 
without  mysticism  is  prose,"  she  said,  sadly  smiling,  and 
not  letting  out  of  sight  the  lackey,  who  was  still  busy 
about  the  curtain. 

"  Filipp,  not  this  curtain,  —  the  one  at  the  large 
window,"  Sofya  Vasilevna  muttered,  with  the  tone  of  a 


RESURRECTION  143 

sufferer,  evidently  regretting  the  effort  which  she  had 
to  make  in  order  to  pronounce  these  words,  and  imme- 
diately, to  soothe  her  nerves,  putting  the  fragrant,  smok- 
ing cigarette  to  her  mouth  with  her  ring-covered  hand. 

Broad-chested,  muscular,  handsome  Filipp  made  a 
slight  bow,  as  though  to  excuse  himself,  and,  stepping 
softly  over  the  rug  with  his  strong,  well-shaped  legs, 
humbly  and  silently  went  up  to  the  other  window,  and, 
carefully  watching  the  princess,  so  arranged  the  curtain 
that  not  one  single  ray  could  fall  upon  her.  But  here  he 
again  did  not  do  exactly  right,  and  again  exhausted  Sofya 
Vasilevna  was  compelled  to  interrupt  her  conversation 
about  mysticism  and  to  correct  Filipp,  who  was  hard  of 
understanding  and  who  pitilessly  tormented  her.  For 
a  moment  there  was  a  flash  m  Filipp's  eyes. 

"  The  devil  can  make  out  what  it  is  you  want,  no  doubt 
is  what  he  said  to  himself,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  who  was 
watching  the  whole  game.  But  handsome,  strong  Filipp 
at  once  concealed  his  motion  of  impatience  and  began 
calmly  to  carry  out  the  order  of  exhausted,  powerless, 
artificial  Princess  Sofya  Vasilevna. 

"  Of  course,  there  is  a  larger  grain  of  truth  in  Darwin's 
teachings,"  said  Kolosov,  throwing  himself  back  in  the 
low  armchair,  and  looking  with  sleepy  eyes  at  Princess 
Sofya  Vasilevna,  "  but  he  oversteps  the  boundary.     Yes." 

"  And  do  you  believe  in  heredity  ? "  Princess  Sofya 
Vasilevna  asked  Nekhlyiidov,  vexed  by  his  silence. 

"  In  heredity  ? "  Nekhlyudov  repeated  her  question. 
"  No,  I  do  not,"  he  said,  being  at  that  moment  all  absorbed 
in  the  strange  pictures  which  for  some  reason  were  rising 
in  his  imagination.  By  the  side  of  strong,  handsome 
Filipp,  whom  he  imagined  to  be  an  artist's  model,  he  saw 
Kolosov  naked,  with  a  belly  in  the  shape  of  a  water- 
melon, and  a  bald  head,  and  thin,  whip-like  arms.  Just 
as  disconsolately  he  thought  of  Sofya  Vasilevna's  shoul- 
ders, which  now  were  covered  with  silk  and  velvet ;  he 


144  RESURRECTION 

imagined  them  in  their  natural  state,  but  this  conception 
was  so  terrible  that  he  tried  to  dispel  it. 

Sofya  Vasilevna  measured  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  Missy  is  waiting  for  you,"  she  said.  "  Go  to 
her ;  she  wanted  to  play  to  you  a  new  piece  by  Grieg,  — 
it  is  very  interesting." 

"  She  did  not  want  to  play  anything.  She  is  just  lying 
for  some  reason,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  rising  aad  press- 
ing Sofya  Vasilevna's  translucent,  bony  hand,  covered 
with  rings. 

In  the  drawing-room  he  was  met  by  Katerina  Aleksy^- 
evua,  who  at  once  began  to  speak  to  him. 

"  I  see  the  duties  of  a  juror  have  an  oppressive  effect 
iipon  you,"  she  said,  speaking,  as  always,  in  French. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  am  not  in  a  good  humour  to-day,  and  1 
have  no  right  to  make  others  feel  bad,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Why  are  you  out  of  humour  ?  " 

"  Permit  me  not  to  tell  you  why,"  he  said,  trying  to 
find  his  hat. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  you  told  us  that  one  must 
always  tell  the  truth,  and  how  you  then  told  us  such 
cruel  truths  ?  Why,  then,  do  you  not  want  to  tell  now  ? 
Do  you  remember.  Missy  ?  "  Katerina  Aleksy^evna  turned 
to  Missy,  who  had  come  out  to  them. 

"  Because  that  was  a  game,"  Nekhlyiidov  answered 
seriously.  "  In  a  game  one  may,  but  in  reality  we  are  so 
bad,  that  is,  I  am  so  bad,  that  I,  at  least,  am  not  able 
to  tell  the  truth." 

"  There  is  nothing  worse  than  to  confess  that  you  are 
out  of  humour,"  said  Missy.  "  I  never  acknowledge  such 
a  feeling  in  myself,  and.  so  I  am  always  in  a  happy  frame 
of  mind.  Well,  won't  you  come  with  me  ?  We  shall 
try  to  dispel  your  mauvaise  humeur." 

Nekhlyiidov  experienced  a  sensation  such  as  a  horse 
must  experience  when  it  is  being  patted,  in  order  to  be 
bridled  and  hitched.     But  on  that  evening  it  was  harder 


KESURRECTION  145 

for  hiin  to  pull  than  at  any  previous  time.  He  excused 
himself,  saying  that  he  had  to  be  at  home,  and  began  to 
say  good-bye.     Missy  held  his  hand  longer  than  usual. 

"  Kemember  that  what  is  important  to  you  is  also 
important  to  your  friends,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  be  here 
to-morrow  ? " 

"  Hardly,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  and,  feehng  ashamed  (he 
did  not  know  whether  for  himself  or  for  her),  he  blushed 
and  hurriedly  went  away. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Comvic  cela  m'intrigue,"  said 
Katerina  Aleksy^evna,  when  Nekhlyudov  had  gone.  "  I 
must  find  out.  Some  affaire  d' amour  propre,  —  il  est 
tres  susceptible,  notre  cher  Mitya." 

"  Flutot,  une  affaire  d'amour  sale,"  Missy  wanted  to  say, 
but  restrained  herself,  with  a  dimmed  expression  which 
was  quite  different  from  the  one  her  face  had  when 
speaking  with  him ;  she  did  not  tell  that  bad  pun  to 
Katerina  Aleksy^evna,  but  merely  remarked :  "  We  all 
have  good  and  bad  days." 

"  I  wonder  whether  he,  too,  will  deceive  me,"  she 
thought.  "  After  all  that  has  happened,  it  would  be  very 
bad  of  him." 

If  Missy  had  been  asked  to  explain  what  she  under- 
stood by  the  words,  "  after  all  that  has  happened,"  she 
would  not  have  been  able  to  say  anything  definite,  and 
yet  she  knew  beyond  any  doubt  that  he  had  not  only 
given  her  hope,  but  had  almost  promised  her.  All  this 
was  done  not  by  distinct  words,  but  by  glances,  smiles, 
insinuations,  and  reticence.  Withal  she  regarded  him  as 
her  own,  and  it  would  have  been  hard  for  her  to  lose 
him. 


XXVIIL 

"  Disgraceful  and  disgusting,  disgusting  and  disgrace- 
ful," Nekhlyudov  thought  in  the  meantime,  walking 
home  through  familiar  streets.  The  heavy  feeling  which 
he  had  experienced  during  his  conversation  with  Missy 
did  not  leave  him.  He  felt  that  formally,  if  one  may 
so  express  oneself,  he  was  right  before  her,  for  he  had  said 
nothing  to  her  that  would  bind  him,  had  made  no  pro- 
posal to  her ;  at  the  same  time  he  was  conscious  of 
having  essentially  tied  himself  and  promised,  and  yet 
he  felt  with  all  his  being  that  he  could  not  marry 
her.  "  Disgraceful  and  disgusting,  disgusting  and  dis- 
graceful," he  repeated  to  himself,  not  only  in  reference  to 
his  relations  with  Missy,  but  to  everything.  "  Everything 
is  disgusting  and  disgraceful,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  as 
he  ascended  the  porch  of  his  house. 

"  I  sha'n't  eat  any  supper,"  he  said  to  Korndy,  who 
walked  after  him  into  the  dining-room,  where  the  table 
was  set  and  the  tea  was  ready.     "  You  may  go." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Korney  ;  he  did  not  leave,  but  began  to 

clear  the  table.     Nekhlyiidov  looked  at  Koru^y  and  was 

overcom3  by  a  hostile  feeling  toward  him.    He  wanted  to 

be  left  alone,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  everybody  was 

annoying  him,  as  though  on  purpose.     When  Korney  had 

left  with  the  dishes,  Nekhlyildov  went  up  to  the  samovar, 

in  order  to  pour  in   the  tea,  but  upon  hearing  Agrafena 

Petrovna's  steps,  he,  in  order  not  to  be  seen,  hurriedly 

went  into  the  drawing-room  and  closed  the  door  behind 

him.     This  drawing-room  was  the  one  in  which  his  mother 

had  died  three  months  before.     Now,  upon  entering  this 

146 


RESUREECTION  147 

room,  which  was  illuminated  by  two  lamps  with  their 
reflectors,  one  near  his  father's  picture,  the  other  near  his 
mother's  portrait,  he  recalled  his  last  relations  with 
his  mother,  and  they  seemed  to  him  unnatural  and 
repulsive.  And  this,  too,  was  shameful  and  mean.  He 
recalled  how  during  her  last  illness  he  had  simply  wanted 
her  to  die.  He  had  said  to  himself  that  he  wished  it  in 
order  to  see  her  liberated  from  her  sufferings,  but  in  reality 
he  had  wished  himself  to  he  freed  from  the  sight  of  her 
agony. 

Wishiug  to  evoke  a  good  memory  of  her,  he  looked  at 
her  portrait,  which  had  been  painted  by  a  famous  painter 
for  five  thousand  roubles.  She  was  represented  in  a  black 
velvet  gown,  with  bared  breast.  The  painter  had  evidently 
spared  no  effort  in  painting  the  bosom,  the  interval  between 
her  breasts,  and  the  shoulders  and  neck,  dazzling  in  their 
beauty.  This  was  absolutely  disgraceful  and  disgusting. 
There  was  something  loathsomely  profane  in  the  represen- 
tation of  his  mother  in  the  form  of  a  half-naked  beauty, 
the  more  loathsome,  since  three  months  ago  the  same 
woman  had  been  lying  there,  dried  up  like  a  mummy, 
and  yet  filling  not  only  the  room,  but  even  the  whole 
house  with  a  painfully  heavy  odour  which  it  was  impos- 
sible to  subdue.  He  thought  he  could  scent  it  even  now. 
And  he  recalled  how  the  day  before  her  death  she  had 
taken  his  strong,  white  hand  into  her  bony,  discoloured 
little  one,  had  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  and  had  said: 
"  Do  not  judge  me,  Mitya,  if  I  have  not  done  right,"  and 
in  her  eyes,  faded  from  suffering,  stood  tears.  "  How 
disgustin"  ! "  he  said  once  more  to  himself,  looking  at  the 
half-bare  woman  with  her  superb  marble  shoulders  and 
arms,  and  with  her  victorious  snule.  The  nudity  of  the 
bosom  on  the  portrait  reminded  him  of  another  young 
woman,  whom  he  had  also  seen  decolletee  a  few  days 
before.  It  was  IVIissy,  who  had  found  an  excuse  to  invite 
him  to  the  house,  in  order  that  she  might  appear  before 


148  RESURRECTION 

him  in  the  evening  dress  in  which  she  was  going  to  a 
ball.  He  thought  with  disgust  of  her  beautiful  shoulders 
and  arms.  And  that  coarse  animal  father,  with  his  past, 
his  cruelty,  and  that  spiritual  mother,  with  her  doubtful 
reputation !  Disgraceful  and  disgusting,  disgusting  and 
disgraceful ! 

"  No,  no,"  he  thought, "  I  must  free  myself ;  I  must  free 
myself  from  all  these  false  relations  with  the  Korchagins, 
and  from  Mariya  Vasilevna,  and  from  the  inheritance, 
and  from  everything  else  —  Yes,  I  must  breathe  freely. 
Abroad,  —  to  Eome,  to  work  on  my  picture."  He  recalled 
his  doubts  in  regard  to  his  talent.  "  What  of  it  ?  If  only 
to  breathe  freely.  First  to  Constantinople,  then  to  Eome, 
only  to  get  rid  of  all  jury  service.  And  I  must  arrange 
that  matter  with  the  lawyer." 

And  suddenly  the  prisoner,  with  her  black  squinting 
eyes  arose  in  his  imagination  with  extraordinary  vividness. 
How  she  did  weep  during  the  last  words  said  by  the 
defendants !  He  hurriedly  extinguished  his  finished 
cigarette  and  crushed  it  in  the  ash-tray,  lighted  another, 
and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  in  the  room.  And  one 
after  another  the  moments  which  he  had  passed  with  her 
rose  in  his  imagination.  He  recalled  his  last  meeting 
with  her,  that  animal  passion  which  then  had  taken 
possession  of  him,  and  the  disenchantment  which  he  had 
experienced  when  his  passion  was  satisfied.  He  recalled 
the  white  dress  with  the  blue  ribbon,  and  the  morning 
mass.  "  I  did  love  her,  did  sincerely  love  her  with  a 
good  and  pure  love  during  that  night ;  I  had  loved  her 
even  before,  when  I  had  passed  my  first'  summer  with 
my  aunts,  and  had  been  writing  my  thesis  ! "  And  he 
recalled  himself  such  as  he  had  been  then.  That  fresh- 
ness, youth,  and  fulness  of  life  was  wafted  upon  him,  and 
he  felt  painfully  sad. 

The  difference  between  what  he  had  then  been  and  what 
he  now  was  was  enormous ;  it  was  just  as  great,  if  not 


RESURRECTION  149 

greater,  than  the  difference  that  existed  between  Katyu- 
sha at  church  and  that  prostitute,  who  had  caroused 
with  the  merchant,  and  who  had  been  sentenced  on  that 
very  day.  Then  he  had  been  a  vigorous,  free  man,  before 
whom  endless  possibiHties  had  been  open ;  now  he  was 
conscious  of  being  on  all  sides  caught  in  the  snare  of  a 
foolish,  empty,  aimless,  and  insignificant  life,  from  which 
he  saw  no  issue,  and  from  which,  for  the  greatest  part,  he 
did  not  wish  to  emerge.  He  recalled  how  formerly  he 
had  prided  himself  on  his  straightforwardness ;  how  he  had 
made  it  his  rule  always  to  tell  the  truth  ;  and  how  he  now 
was  all  entangled  in  a  lie,  in  a  most  terrible  lie ;  a  lie 
which  all  the  people  who  surrounded  him  regarded  as  the 
truth.  And  there  was  no  way  of  getting  out  from  this 
lie,  —  at  least  he  did  not  see  any  way.  And  he  was  sunk 
deep  in  it,  —  was  used  to  it,  and  pampered  himself 
by  it. 

How  was  he  to  tear  asunder  those  relations  with 
Mariya  Vasilevna  and  with  her  husband  in  such  a  way 
that  he  should  not  be  ashamed  to  look  into  his  eyes  and 
into  the  eyes  of  his  children  ?  How  was  he  to  unravel 
his  relations  with  Missy  without  lying  ?  How  was  he  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  contradiction  between  the 
acknowledgment  of  the  illegality  of  the  ownership  of  land 
and  the  possession  for  life  of  his  maternal  inheritance  ? 
How  was  he  to  atone  for  his  sin  before  Katyusha  ?  He 
certainly  could  not  leave  it  as  it  was.  "  I  cannot  aban- 
don a  woman  whom  I  have  loved,  and  be  satisfied  with 
paying  a  lawyer  and  freeing  her  from  hard  labour,  which 
she  has  not  deserved,  —  that  is,  to  settle  the  whole  matter 
by  giving  money,  just  as  I  had  thought  then  that  I  ought 
to  do,  when  I  gave  her  the  money  !  " 

And  he  vividly  thought  of  the  minute  when  he  had 
caught  up  with  her  in  the  corridor,  and  put  the  money  in 
her  bosom,  and  had  run  away  again.  "  Ah,  that  money  ! " 
he  recalled  that  minute  with  the  same  terror  and  dis- 


150  RESUERECTION 

gust  that  had  overcome  him  then.  "Ah,  ah  !  how  con- 
temptible !  "  he  said  aloud,  just  as  then.  "  Only  a  rascal,  a 
scouudrel,  could  have  doue  that !  And  I  am  that  rascal, 
that  scoundrel ! "  he  again  said  aloud.  "  And  am  I 
really,"  he  stopped  in  his  walk,  "  am  I  really  such  a 
scouudrel  ?  If  not  I,  who  is  ? "  he  rephed  to  his  own 
question.  "  And  is  this  all  ? "  he  continued  to  upbraid 
himself.  "  Are  not  your  relations  with  Mariya  Vasilevna 
and  her  husband  mean  and  contemptible  ?  And  your 
relations  with  property  ?  Under  the  pretence  that  the 
money  is  your  mother's  to  make  use  of  wealth  which  you 
regard  as  illegal  ?  And  all  your  empty,  bad  Mfe.  And 
the  crown  of  all,  —  your  deed  with  Katyusha.  Scoundrel ! 
rascal !  Let  people  judge  me  as  they  please  :  I  can  deceive 
them,  but  I  shall  never  be  able  to  deceive  myself." 

And  he  suddenly  comprehended  that  that  loathing 
which  he  had  of  late  experienced  for  people  —  and  espe- 
cially on  that  very  day  for  the  prince,  and  for  Sofya  Vasi- 
levna, and  for  Missy,  and  for  Korn^y  —  was  really  a 
loathing  for  himself.  And,  strange  to  say,  in  this 
feeling  of  confessing  his  meanness  there  was  something 
painful,  and  at  the  same  time  something  pleasurable  and 
soothing. 

Nekhlyiidov  had  had  several  times  before  what  he 
called  a  "  cleansing  of  his  soul."  By  a  cleansing  of  his 
soul  he  understood  a  condition  of  his  soul  such  as  when 
he  suddenly,  sometimes  after  a  long  interval  of  time, 
recognized  the  retardation,  and  sometimes  the  cessation 
of  his  internal  work,  and  began  to  clean  up  all  the  dirt 
which  had  accumulated  in  his  soul,  and  which  was  the 
cause  of  this  retardation. 

After  such  awakenings  Nekhlyudov  formed  certain 
rules  which  he  intended  to  follow  henceforth :  he  kept  a 
diary  and  began  a  new  life,  which  he  hoped  he  would 
never  change  again,  — ■  he  "  turned  a  new  leaf,"  as  he 
used    to  say  to  himself.     But   the   temptations  of   the 


EESUKKECTION  151 

world  pressed  hard  on  him,  and  he  fell  again,  without 
noticing  it,  and  often  lower  than  before. 

Thus  he  had  cleansed  himself  and  had  risen  several 
times ;  thus  it  had  been  with  him  the  first  time  when  he 
had  gone  to  spend  the  summer  with  his  aunts.  That  had 
been  the  most  vivid,  the  most  enthusiastic  awakening,  and 
its  effects  had  remained  for  a  considerable  time.  Then,  he 
had  another  awakening  when  he  left  the  civil  service, 
and,  wishing  to  sacrifice  his  hfe,  entered  the  military  serv- 
ice during  the  war.  But  here  the  pollution  took  place 
soon  aft-er.  Then,  there  was  another  awakening  when  he 
asked  for  his  dismissal  from  the  army,  and  went  abroad 
to  study  art. 

Since  then  a  long  period  had  passed  without  any  cleans- 
ing, and  consequently  he  had  never  before  reached  such 
a  pollution  and  such  a  discord  between  that  which  his 
conscience  demanded  and  the  life  which  he  was  leading, 
and  he  was  horror-struck  when  he  saw  the  distance. 

That  distance  was  so  great,  the  pollution  so  strong,  that 
at  first  he  despaired  of  being  able  to  cleanse  his  soul.  "  I 
have  tried  often  enough  to  perfect  myself  and  become 
better,  but  nothing  has  come  of  it,"  said  in  his  soul  the 
voice  of  the  tempter,  "  so  what  is  the  use  trying  again  ? " 
"  You  are  not  the  only  one,  —  they  are  all  like  that,  — 
such  is  life,"  said  this  voice.  But  the  free,  spiritual 
being,  which  alone  is  true,  and  powerful,  and  eternal,  was 
already  beginning  to  waken  in  Nekhlyudov.  He  could 
not  help  trusting  it.  No  matter  how  great  the  distance 
was  between  what  he  had  been  and  what  he  wanted  to  be, 
everything  was  possible  for  the  awakened  spiritual  being. 

"  I  will  tear  asunder  the  lie  which  is  binding  me,  at 
whatever  cost,  and  I  will  profess  the  truth,  and  will  tell 
the  truth  to  everybody  at  all  times,  and  will  act  truth- 
fully," he  said  to  himself  aloud,  with  determination.  "  I  will 
tell  the  truth  to  Missy ;  I  will  tell  her  that  I  am  a  liber- 
tine and    that    I    cannot    marry  her,  and   that    I    have 


162  RESURRECTION 

troubled  her  in  vain  ;  and  I  will  also  tell  the  truth  to 
Mariya  Vasilevna.  Still  I  have  nothing  to  tell  her ;  I 
will  tell  her  husband  that  I  am  a  scoundrel,  that  I  have 
deceived  him,  I  will  make  such  disposition  of  my  inher- 
itance as  to  be  in  consonance  with  the  truth,  I  will  tell 
her,  Katyusha,  that  I  am  a  rascal,  that  I  am  guilty  toward 
her,  and  I  will  do  everything  to  alleviate  her  lot.  Yes, 
I  will  see  her,  and  will  ask  her  to  forgive  me. 

"  Yes,  I  will  ask  forgiveness,  as  children  ask  it," 

He  stopped,     "  I  will  marry  her,  if  that  is  possible." 

He  stopped,  crossed  his  hands  over  his  breast,  as  he 
used  to  do  when  he  was  a  child,  raised  his  eyes  upwards, 
and  uttered  these  words  : 

"  0  Lord,  help  me,  instruct  me,  come  and  take  Thy 
abode  within  me,  and  cleanse  me  of  all  impurity," 

He  prayed  to  God  to  help  him,  to  take  up  His  abode 
within  him,  and  to  purify  liim,  and  in  the  meantime  that 
which  he  asked  f^or  had  already  taken  place.  God,  who 
was  living  within  him,  had  awakened  in  his  conscious- 
ness. He  felt  himself  to  be  that  new  man,  and  there- 
fore he  was  conscious  not  only  of  freedom,  of  frankness, 
and  of  the  joy  of  life,  but  also  of  all  the  power  of  good- 
ness. He  now  felt  himself  capable  of  doing  everything, 
the  very  best  that  any  human  being  could  do. 

In  his  eyes  were  tears,  as  he  was  saying  that  to  him- 
self, —  both  good  and  bad  tears :  good  tears,  because  they 
were  tears  of  joy  at  the  awakening  of  the  spnitual  being 
within  him ;  and  bad,  because  they  were  tears  of  pacifi- 
cation with  himself,  at  his  own  virtue. 

He  was  warm.  He  went  up  to  the  window  and  opened 
it.  It  faced  the  garden.  It  was  a  quiet,  fresh  moonlight 
night ;  in  the  street  some  wheels  rattled,  and  then  all 
was  quiet.  Right  under  the  window  could  be  seen  the 
shadow  from  the  branches  of  the  tall,  leafless  poplar, 
which  with  all  its  forked  boughs  lay  distinctly  outlined 
on  the  sand  of  the  cleaned-up  open  space.     On  the  left 


RESURRECTION  153 

was  the  roof  of  a  barn,  which  appeared  white  in  the 
bright  moonlight ;  in  front  were  the  intertwined  branches 
of  the  trees,  and  behind  them  could  be  seen  the  black 
shadow  of  the  fence.  Nekhlyudov  looked  at  the  moonUt 
garden  and  roof  and  the  shadow  of  the  poplar,  and  he 
hstened,  and  inhaled  the  vivifying  fresh  air. 

"  How  good,  how  good,  O  Lord,  how  good  ! "  he  said  of 
what  was  in  his  soul. 


XXIX. 

Maslova.  returned  to  her  cell  at  six  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, tired  and  footsore  from  the  unaccustomed  fifteen- 
verst  march  over  the  cobblestones,  and  besides  oppressed 
by  the  unexpectedly  severe  sentence,  and  hungry. 

During  a  recess,  the  guards  had  been  eating  bread  and 
hard-boiled  eggs,  and  her  mouth  had  begun  to  water,  and 
she  had  felt  hungry,  but  had  regarded  it  as  humiliating  to 
ask  them  for  anything  to  eat.  When,  after  that,  three 
hours  passed,  she  no  longer  felt  hungry,  but  only  weak. 
It  was  during  that  state  that  she  listened  to  the  sentence. 
At  first  she  thought  that  she  had  not  heard  right,  and  was 
not  able  to  beheve  what  she  had  heard :  she  could  not 
think  of  herself  as  sentenced  to  hard  labour.  But  when 
she  saw  the  quiet,  businesshke  countenances  of  the  judges 
and  the  jury,  who  received  that  information  as  something 
quite  natural,  she  felt  provoked  and  shouted  aloud  that 
she  was  not  guilty.  When  she  saw  that  her  cry,  too,  was 
received  as  something  natural,  as  something  expected  and 
incapable  of  affecting  the  case,  she  burst  out  into  tears, 
feeling  that  it  was  necessary  to  submit  to  that  cruel  and 
amazing  injustice  which  had  been  committed  against  her. 

She  was  particularly  amazed  at  the  fact  that  she  had 
been  so  cruelly  condenmed  by  men,  —  young  men,  not 
old  men,  —  who  had  always  looked  so  favourably  upon 
her.  One  of  them  —  the  prosecuting  attorney  —  she  had 
seen  in  quite  a  different  mood.  While  she  was  sitting  in 
the  prisoners'  room,  waiting  for  the  court  to  begin,  and 
during  the  recesses  of  the  session,  she  had  seen  those 
men,  pretending  to  be  after  something  else,  pass  by  the 

154 


RESURRECTION  155 

door  or  walk  into  the  room  in  order  to  take  a  look  at  her. 
And  now  these  same  men  had  for  some  reason  or  other 
sentenced  her  to  hard  labour,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  she  was  not  guilty  of  what  she  had  been  accused 
of.  She  wept,  but  then  grew  silent,  and  in  complete 
stupor  sat  in  the  prisoners'  room,  waiting  to  be  taken 
back.  She  wanted  only  one  thing,  —  to  smoke.  While 
in  this  condition,  she  was  seen  by  Bdchkova  and  Kartin- 
kin,  who  were  brought  into  the  same  room  after  the  sen- 
tence had  been  passed.  Bdchkova  at  once  began  to 
scold  Maslova  and  to  taunt  her  with  the  hard  labour. 

"  Well,  did  you  succeed  ?  Did  you  justify  yourself  ? 
You  could  not  get  off,  you  slut !  You  have  received  your 
deserts.  You  will  give  up  your  fine  ways  at  the  hard 
labour,  I  am  sure." 

Maslova  sat  with  her  hands  stuck  into  the  sleeves  of 
her  cloak  and,  bending  her  head  low,  remained  motionless, 
looking  two  steps  ahead  of  her,  at  the  dirty  floor,  and 
only  said : 

"  I  am  not  bothering  you,  so  you  leave  me  alone.  I 
am  not  botheriug  you,"  she  repeated  several  times,  then 
grew  entirely  silent.  She  revived  a  little  when  Bdchkova 
and  Kartiukin  were  led  away,  and  the  janitor  came  in 
and  brought  her  three  roubles. 

"  Are  you  Maslova  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Here,  take  it ;  a  lady  has  sent  it  for  you,"  he  said, 
handing  her  the  money. 

«  What  lady  ?  " 

"  Take  it,  and  don't  get  into  discussions  with  us  !  " 

Kitaeva  had  sent  the  money.  Upon  leaving  the  court- 
room she  asked  the  baihff  whether  she  could  give  Mas- 
lova some  money.  The  bailiff  said  she  could.  Upon 
receiving  this  permission,  she  pulled  the  tliree-buttqn 
chamois  glove  off  her  plump  white  hand,  took  a  fashion- 
able pocketbook  out  of  the  back  folds  of  her  silk  skirt, 
eind  selecting  from  a  fairly  large  heap  of  coupons,  which 


156  RESURRECTION 

had  been  cut  from  bank-bills  earned  by  her,  one  of  the 
denomination  of  two  roubles  and  fifty  kopeks,  added  to 
this  two  twenty-kopek  pieces  and  one  ten-kopek  piece, 
and  handed  the  sum  over  to  the  bailiff.  He  called  the 
janitor,  and  gave  him  the  money  in  the  presence  of  the 
donor. 

"Please,  give  it  to  her  in  full,"  Karolina  Albertovna 
said  to  the  janitor. 

The  janitor  felt  insulted  by  the  suspicion,  and  that  was 
why  he  was  so  brusque  with  Maslova. 

Maslova  was  glad  to  get  the  money,  because  it  would 
furnish  her  with  what  she  now  wanted. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  cigarettes,  and  have  a  puff  at 
one,"  she  thought,  and  all  her  thoughts  were  centred  on 
this  one  desire  lo  smoke.  She  was  so  anxious  for  it  that 
she  eagerly  inhaled  the  air  if  there  was  a  whiff  of  tobacco 
smoke  in  it,  as  it  found  its  way  into  the  corridor  through 
the  doors  of  a  cabinet.  But  she  had  to  wait  for  quite 
awhile,  because  the  secretary,  who  had  to  release  her, 
having  forgotten  about  the  defendants,  was  busy  discuss- 
ing a  prohibited  article  with  one  of  the  lawyers. 

Finally,  at  about  five  o'clock,  she  was  permitted  to 
leave,  and  the  two  soldiers  of  the  guard  —  the  Nizhni- 
No  vgorodian  and  the  Chuvash  —  took  her  away  from  the 
court-house  by  a  back  door.  While  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  court-house,  she  gave  them  twenty  kopeks,  asking 
them  to  buy  her  two  rolls  and  cigarettes.  The  Chuvash 
laughed,  took  the  money,  and  said,  "All  right,  we  will 
buy  it  for  you,"  and  really  honestly  bought  the  cigarettes 
and  rolls,  and  gave  her  the  change.  On  the  way  she 
could  not  smoke,  so  that  she  reached  the  prison  with 
the  same  unsatisfied  desire  to  smoke.  As  she  was 
brought  to  the  door,  about  one  hundred  prisoners  were 
being  delivered  from  the  railroad  train.  She  fell  in  with 
them  at  the  entrance. 

The  prisoners,  —  bearded,  shaven,  old,  young,  Russians 


RESUKRECTION  157 

and  of  other  nationalities,  —  some  of  them  with  half  their 
heads  shaven,  clanking  their  leg-fetters,  filled  the  entrance- 
hall  with  the  noise  of  their  steps,  their  voices,  and  the 
pungent  odour  of  their  sweat.  Passing  by  Maslova,  the 
prisoners  looked  at  her,  and  some  went  up  to  her,  and 
teased  her. 

"  Oh,  a  tine  girl,"  said  one.  "  My  regards  to  aunty," 
said  another,  blinking  with  one  eye. 

A  swarthy  fellow,  with  a  blue  shaven  occiput  and  with 
a  moustache  on  his  shaven  face,  tripping  in  his  fetters 
and  clanking  them,  rushed  up  to  her  and  embraced  her. 

"  Did  you  not  recognize  your  friend  ?  Stop  putting  on 
airs!"  he  cried,  grinning  and  flashing  his  eyes  upon  her, 
as  she  pushed  him  away. 

"  liascal,  what  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  cried  the  assistant 
superintendent,  coming  up  to  him. 

The  prisoner  crouched  and  swiftly  ran  away.  The 
assistant  began  to  scold  Maslova. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? " 

Maslova  wanted  to  tell  him  that  she  was  brought 
back  from  court,  but  she  was  too  tired  to  talk. 

"  From  court,  your  honour,"  said  the  elder  guard,  com- 
ing out  of  the  throng  of  prisoners,  and  putting  his  hand 
to  his  cap. 

"  Well,  transfer  her,  then,  to  the  officer,  and  don't  keep 
her  in  this  crowd  ! " 

"  Yes,  your  honour  ! " 

"  Sokolov  !  Receive  her,"  cried  the  assistant  superin- 
tendent. 

The  officer  came  up,  and,  giving  Maslova  an  angry 
push  on  the  shoulder  and  indicating  the  direction  to  her 
l)y  a  motion  of  his  head,  led  her  to  the  women's  corridor. 
There  she  was  exammed  and  fingered  all  over,  and,  as 
nothing  was  found  (the  cigarette  box  had  been  stuck  into 
a  roll),  she  was  admitted  to  the  same  cell  which  she  had 
left  in  the  morning. 


XXX. 

The  cell  in  which  Maslova  was  kept  was  a  long  room, 
nine  arshins  long  and  seven  wide,  with  two  windows,  a 
protruding,  worn-out  stove,  and  sleeping-l^enohes  with 
warped  boards,  which  occupied  two  thirds  of  the  space. 
In  the  middle,  opposite  the  door,  was  a  dark  holy  image, 
with  a  wax  taper  stuck  to  it,  and  with  a  dusty  wreath  of 
immortelles  hanging  underneath  it.  Behind  the  door, 
and  to  the  left,  was  a  black  spot  on  the  floor,  and  on  it 
stood  a  stink-vat.  The  roll  had  just  been  called,  and  the 
women  were  locked  up  for  the  night. 

There  were  in  all  fifteen  inmates  in  that  cell :  twelve 
women  and  three  children. 

It  was  quite  light  yet,  and  only  two  women  were 
lying  on  the  benches :  one  of  them,  whose  head  was 
covered  with  her  cloak,  was  a  demented  woman,  who 
was  locked  up  for  having  no  passport ;  she  was  asleep 
most  of  the  time  ;  and  the  other,  —  a  consumptive  woman, 
—  was  serving  a  sentence  for  theft.  She  was  not  asleep, 
but  lay,  with  her  cloak  under  her  head,  with  her  eyes 
wide  open,  with  difficulty  keeping  back  the  tickling 
and  oozing  moisture  in  her  throat,  in  order  not  to  cough. 

The  other  women,  all  of  them  with  bare  heads,  in 
nothing  but  shirts  of  a  coarse  texture,  were  either  sitting 
on  the  benches  and  sewing,  or  standing  at  the  window 
and  looking  at  the  prisoners  who  were  passing  through 
the  yard.  Of  the  three  women  who  were  sewing,  one 
was  the  same  old  woman  who  had  seen  Maslova  off, 
Korabl^va  by  name  ;  she  was  a  sullen,  scowling,  wrinkled, 
tall,  strong   woman,  with   skin   hanging  in   a  loose  bag 

168 


RESURRECTION  159 

under  her  chin,  a  short  braid  of  blond  hair  that  was 
streaked  with  gray  over  her  temples,  and  a  hirsute  wart 
on  her  cheek.  The  woman  had  been  sentenced  to  hard 
labour  for  having  killed  her  husband  with  an  axe.  She 
had  committed  that  murder  because  he  had  been  making 
improper  advances  to  her  daughter.  Korableva  was  the 
forewoman  of  the  cell,  and  trafficked  in  liquor.  She  was 
sewing  in  spectacles,  and  holding  the  needle  in  her  large 
working  hands  iu  peasant  fashion,  with  three  fingers  and 
the  point  towards  her. 

Next  to  her  sat  a  snub-nosed,  swarthy  httle  woman, 
with  small  black  eyes,  good-hearted  and  talkative,  also 
sewing  bags  of  sail-cloth.  She  was  a  flagwoman  at  a 
railroad  hut,  sentenced  to  three  months  iu  jail  for  ha\dng 
failed  to  flag  a  train,  a  failure  by  which  an  accident  was 
caused. 

The  third  woman  who  was  sewing,  was  Fedosya,  —  F^- 
nichka  her  companions  called  her,  —  a  w^hite,  red-cheeked, 
very  young,  sweet-faced  woman,  with  clear,  childish  eyes, 
and  two  long  blond  braids  circling  around  a  small  head, 
who  was  imprisoned  for  an  attempt  to  poison  her  husband. 
She  tried  to  poison  him  soon  after  her  marriage,  which 
had  taken  place  when  she  was  barely  sixteen  years  old. 
In  the  eight  months  which  she  had  been  detained  await- 
ing the  court's  session,  she  not  only  made  up  with 
her  husband,  but  became  so  fond  of  him  that  the  court 
found  the  two  living  in  the  greatest  concord.  Notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  her  husband  and  her  father-in-law, 
and  especially  the  mother-in-law,  who  had  become  exceed- 
ingly fond  of  her,  tried  to  exculpate  her,  she  was  sentenced 
to  hard  labour  in  Siberia.  Good,  merry,  frequently  smil- 
ing Fedosya  was  Maslova's  neigbbour  on  the  bench,  and 
she  not  only  liked  Maslova  very  much,  but  regarded  it  as 
her  duty  to  care  for  her  and  attend  to  her. 

Two  other  women  were  sitting  on  the  benches,  without 
any  work ;  one  of  them,  about  forty  years  of  age,  with  a 


160  RESURRECTION 

pale,  haggard  face,  had  evidently  once  been  very  beautiful, 
but  now  was  pale  and  lean,  —  she  was  holding  a  babe  in 
her  arms,  and  suckling  it  from  her  white,  long  breast. 
Her  crime  consisted  in  this :  a  recruit  was  taken  away 
from  their  village,  who,  according  to  the  peasants'  under- 
standing, had  been  unlawfully  drafted  ;  the  people  stopped 
the  country  judge  and  took  away  the  recruit;  this 
woman,  the  unlawfully  seized  recruit's  aunt,  was  the  first 
to  lay  hands  on  the  reins  of  the  horse  which  was  to  take 
away  the  recruit.  The  other  was  a  short,  wrinkled,  good- 
natured  old  woman,  with  gray  hair,  and  a  hump  on  her 
back.  The  old  woman  sat  on  a  bench  near  the  stove  and 
pretended  to  be  catching  the  four-year-old,  close-cropped, 
chubby  little  boy  who  was  running  past  her  and  laughing 
loudly.  He  was  clad  in  nothing  but  a  shirt,  and  kept 
running  past  and  repeating  all  the  time,  "  You  see,  you 
did  not  catch  me !  " 

This  old  woman,  who  with  her  son  was  accused  of  arson, 
bore  her  incarceration  with  the  greatest  good  nature,  feel- 
ing sorry,  not  for  herself,  but  for  her  son,  who  was  also  in 
jail,  and  still  more  for  her  old  husband,  who,  she  was 
afraid,  would  be  all  covered  with  vermin,  because  the 
daughter-in-law  had  left,  and  there  was  no  one  at  home  to 
wash  him. 

In  addition  to  these  seven  women,  four  others  were 
standing  at  one  of  the  open  windows,  and,  holding  on  to 
the  iron  grating,  were  with  signs  and  shouts  conversing 
with  those  prisoners  with  whom  Maslova  had  fallen  in  at 
the  entrance.  One  of  these,  who  was  serving  for  theft, 
was  a  large,  heavy,  flabby,  red-haired  woman,  with  sallow 
and  freckled  face,  hands,  and  neck,  which  stuck  out  from 
her  untied,  open  collar.  She  loudly  shouted  indecent 
words  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

Next  to  her  stood  a  swarthy,  misshapen  woman,  with 
a  long  spine  and  very  short  legs,  looking  not  larger  than  a 
ten-year-old  girl.     Her  face  was  red,  and  all  spotted,  and 


RESURRECTION  161 

had  widely  separated  black  eyes,  and  short,  stout  lips, 
whicli  did  uot  cover  up  her  protruding  white  teeth.  She 
was  laughiug  with  a  whine  and  fitfully  at  what  was 
goiug  on  in  the  yard.  This  prisoner,  nicknamed  Beauty 
for  her  foppishness,  was  under  trial  for  theft  and  arson. 

Back  of  them  stood,  in  a  very  dirty  gray  shirt,  a  mis- 
erable-looking, haggard,  venous,  pregnant  woman,  with  an 
immense  abdomen,  who  was  under  trial  for  receiving 
stolen  goods.  This  woman  was  silent,  but  all  the  time 
smiled  approvingly  and  rapturously  at  what  was  going  on 
without. 

The  fourth  woman  at  the  window,  who  was  serving  a 
sentence  for  ilHcit  traffic  in  liquor,  was  a  short,  thick-set 
peasant  woman,  with  very  bulging  eyes  and  a  good-natured 
face.  This  woman,  the  mother  of  the  boy  who  was  play- 
ing with  the  old  woman,  and  of  a  seven-year-old  girl,  both 
of  which  children  were  with  her  in  the  prison  because 
she  had  no  place  to  leave  them  in,  was  looking  through 
the  window  like  the  rest,  but  continued  to  knit  a  stocking, 
and  kept  frowning  disapprovingly  and  closing  her  ears  to 
what  the  transient  prisoners  in  the  yard  were  saying. 
Her  daughter,  the  seven-year-old  girl,  with  white,  loose 
hair,  was  standing  in  nothing  but  a  shirt  near  the  red- 
haired  woman,  and,  holding  on  with  her  thin  little  hand 
to  her  skirt,  was,  with  arrested  eyes,  listening  attentively 
to  the  vulgar  words  which  the  women  were  exchanging 
with  the  prisoners,  and  repeating  them  in  a  whisper,  as 
though  to  learn  them  by  heart. 

The  twelfth  prisoner  was  the  daughter  of  a  sexton,  who 
had  drowned  her  child  in  a  well.  She  was  a  tall,  stately 
girl,  with  tangled  hair,  which  stuck  out  from  her  thick 
short  blond  braid,  and  with  motionless  protruding  eyes. 
She  did  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  what  was  going  on 
around  her,  was  barefoot  and  clad  in  a  dirty  gray  shirt,  and 
was  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  free  space  of  the  cell,  abruptly 
and  rapidly  turning  around  whenever  she  reached  the  walL 


XXXI. 

When  the  lock  clicked,  and  Maslova  was  let  into  the 
cell,  all  turned  to  her.  Even  the  sexton's  daughter 
stopped  for  a  minute,  and  looked  at  the  newcomer  with 
uplifted  brows,  but  without  saying  anything  immediately 
proceeded  to  walk  up  and  down  with  her  long,  determined 
steps,  Korableva  stuck  her  needle  into  the  coarse  cloth, 
and  questioningly  turned  her  eyes,  through  her  spectacles, 
upon  Maslova, 

"  I  declare.  You  are  back.  And  I  thought  you  would 
be  acquitted,"  she  said,  in  her  hoarse, -deep,  almost  mas- 
culine voice,    "  Evidently  they  have  sent  you  up." 

She  took  off  her  spectacles,  and  put  her  sewing  down 
on  the  l)ench, 

"  Aunty  and  I  have  been  talking  about  you,  dear;  we 
thought  they  would  release  you  at  once.  Such  things  do 
happen.  And  if  you  strike  it  right,  you  get  money,  too," 
began  the  flagwoman,  in  her  singing  voice,  "  And  just 
the  opposite  has  happened.  Evidently  our  guessing  was 
wrong.  The  Lord  evidently  has  decided  differently,  my 
dear,"  she  chattered  without  cessation  in  her  kind  and 
melodious  voice. 

"  Have  they  really  sentenced  you?  "  asked  Fedosya, 
with  compassionate  tenderness,  looking  at  Maslova  with 
her  childish,  light  blue  eyes;  her  whole  cheerful,  young 
face  was  changed,  as  though  she  were  ready  to  weep, 

Maslova  did  not  make  any  reply,  and  silently  went  up 
to  her  place,  the  second  from  the  end,  near  Korableva, 
and  sat  down  on  the  boards  of  the  bench. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  not  had  anything  to  eat,"  said 
Fedosya,  getting  up  and  walking  over  to  Maslova. 

162 


RESURRECTION  163 

Maslova  put  the  rolls  at  the  head  of  the  bench,  with- 
out saying  a  word,  and  began  to  undress  herself:  she  took 
off  her  dusty  cloak,  and  the  kercliief  from  her  curly  black 
hair,  and  sat  down. 

The  humpbacked  old  woman  who  had  been  playing 
with  the  little  fellow  at  the  other  end  of  the  benches 
went  up  and  stopped  in  front  of  Maslova. 

"  Tss,  tss,  tss!  "  she  hissed  out,  sympathetically  shaking 
her  head. 

The  little  boy  also  came  up  with  the  old  woman,  and 
opening  his  eyes  wide,  and  pursing  his  upper  lip  in  one 
corner,  did  not  take  them  off  the  rolls  which  Maslova 
had  brought.  Upon  seeing  all  these  sympathetic  faces 
after  all  that  had  happened  during  that  day,  Maslova 
felt  like  weeping,  and  her  lips  began  to  quiver.  But  she 
tried  to  restrain  herself,  and  succeeded  in  doing  so  until 
the  old  woman  and  little  boy  came  up  to  her.  But  when 
she  heard  the  kindly,  compassionate  "  tss  "  of  the  old 
woman,  and  especially  when  her  eyes  met  those  of  the 
boy,  who  had  now  transferred  his  serious  eyes  from  the 
rolls  to  her,  she  no  longer  could  hold  back.  Her  whole 
face  treml^led,  and  she  sobbed  out  loud. 

"  I  told  you  to  get  the  right  kind  of  a  counsel,"  said 
Korableva.  "  Well,  what  is  it,  transportation? "  she 
asked. 

Maslova  wanted  to  answer  but  could  not;  sobbing,  she 
took  out  of  the  roll  the  box  of  cigarettes,  on  which  was 
represented  a  ruddy  woman  in  a  very  high  head-dress  and 
with  a  triangular  bare  spot  over  her  bosom,  and  handed 
it  to  Korableva.  Korableva  glanced  at  the  picture,  dis- 
approvingly shook  her  head,  particularly  because  Maslova 
had  so  badly  spent  her  money,  and,  taking  out  a  cigarette, 
lighted  it  at  the  lamp,  took  herself  a  puff,  and  then  put 
it  into  Maslova's  hand.  Maslova.  without  interrupting 
her  weeping,  eagerly  began  to  puff  the  tobacco  smoke  in 
quick  succession. 


164  RESURRECTION 

"  Hard  labour,"  she  muttered  through  sobs. 
"  They  are  not  afraid  of  God,  spongers  and  accursed 
bloodsuckers,"  muttered  Korableva.     "  They  have  sen- 
tenced a  girl  for  nothing." 

Just  then  a  roar  of  laughter  was  heard  among  the 
women  who  were  standing  at  the  window.  The  little 
girl  was  laughing,  too,  and  her  thin,  childish  laugh 
mingled  with  the  hoarse  and  whining  laughter  of  the 
grown  people.  A  prisoner  on  the  outside  had  done 
something  that  affected  the  women  who  were  looking 
through  the  window. 

"  Ah,  shaven  dog!  See  what  he  is  doing,"  said  the 
red-haired  woman,  and,  shaking  her  whole  fat  body  and 
pressing  her  face  against  the  grating,  she  shouted  some 
senseless  and  indecent  words. 

"  Stop,  you  skin  of  a  drum!  What  are  you  yelling 
about?  "  said  Korableva,  shaking  her  head  at  the  red- 
haired  woman,  and  again  turning  to  Maslova.  "  How 
many  years?  " 

"  Four,"  said  Maslova,  and  the  tears  flowed  so  copiously 
from  her  eyes  that  one  fell  on  the  cigarette. 

Maslova  angrily  crushed  it,  threw  it  away,  and  took 
another. 

The  flagwoman,  though  she  did  not  smoke,  immediately 
picked  it  up  and  began  to  straighten  it  out,  speaking  all 
the  time. 

"  I  must  say,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  the  wild  boar  must 
have  chewed  up  all  the  truth.  They  now  do  as  they 
please.  And  here  we  had  been  guessing  that  you  would 
be  released.  Matvyeevna  said  that  you  would  be,  and  I 
said,  '  No!  '  says  I,  '  my  heart  feels  that  they  will  undo 
her,'  and  so  it  is,"  she  said,  evidently  finding  pleasure  in 
listening  to  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

By  that  time  all  the  prisoners  had  crossed  the  yard, 
and  the  women  who  had  been  conversing  with  them  had 
left  the  window  and  had  come  over  to  Maslova.    The  first 


RESURRECTION  165 

to  come  up  was  the  staring  dram-shopkeeper  with  her 
little  girl. 

"  Well,  were  they  very  severe?  "  she  asked,  sitting 
down  near  Maslova,  and  continuing  rapidly  to  knit  at 
the  stocking. 

"  They  were  severe  because  there  was  no  money.  If 
she  had  had  money  and  had  hired  a  first-class  lawyer,  I 
am  sure  she  would  have  been  acquitted,"  said  Korableva. 
"  That  fellow,  what  is  his  name?  that  shaggy,  big-nosed 
fellow,  —  he  will  take  a  man  dry  through  the  water. 
She  ought  to  have  had  him." 

"  That's  easily  said,"  retorted  Beauty,  who  had  seated 
herself  near  them,  and  was  grinning.  *'  He  won't  as 
much  as  spit  out  for  less  than  one  thousand." 

"  Yes,  it  is  evidently  your  fate,"  remarked  the  old 
woman  who  w^as  confined  for  arson.  "  It  is  no  small 
matter  they  have  done  to  me:  they  have  taken  the  wife 
away  from  the  young  fellow,  and  have  put  him  where  he 
onh'  breeds  vermin,  and  me,  too,  in  my  old  age,"  she 
began  for  the  hundredth  time  to  tell  her  story.  "  Evi- 
dently you  can't  get  away  from  the  prison  and  from  the 
beggar's  wallet.    If  not  the  wallet,  it  is  the  prison." 

"  It  seems  it  is  always  that  way  with  them,"  said  the 
dram-shopkeeper,  looking  at  her  daughter's  head.  She 
put  down  the  stocking  near  her,  drew  the  girl  between 
her  legs,  and  began  with  swift  fingers  to  search  through 
her  head.  "  Then,  wh}^  do  you  traffic  in  liquor?  —  How 
are  j^ou  otherwise  going  to  feed  your  children?  "  she  said, 
continuing  her  customary  work. 

These  words  of  the  dram-shopkeeper  reminded  Maslova 
of  liquor. 

"  Let  me  have  some  liquor,"  she  said  to  Korableva,  dry- 
ing her  tears  with  her  sliirt-sleeve,  and  sobbing  now  and 
then. 

"  Any  dough?  Very  well,  hand  it  to  me,"  said  Kora- 
bleva. 


XXXII. 

Maslova  took  the  money  out  of  the  roll  and  gave 
Koralileva  the  coupon.  Korableva  took  it,  looked  at  it, 
and,  though  she  could  not  read  herself,  trusted  Beauty, 
who  knew  everything,  that  the  paper  was  worth  two 
roubles  and  a  half,  and  so  she  moved  over  to  the  ven- 
tilator and  took  out  from  it  the  jar  with  the  liquor,  which 
was  concealed  there.  Maslova,  in  the  meantime,  shook 
the  dust  out  of  her  cloak  and  kerchief,  climbed  on  her 
bench,  and  began  to  eat  her  roll. 

"  I  have  kept  some  tea  for  you,  but  I  am  afraid  it  is 
cold  now,"  Fedosj^a  said  to  her,  taking  down  from  the 
shelf  a  rag-covered  tin  pot  and  a  cup. 

The  drink  was  quite  cold  and  tasted  more  of  the  tin 
than  of  the  tea,  but  Maslova  filled  the  cup  and  drank  it 
with  her  roll. 

"  Finashka,  here,"  she  called  out,  and,  breaking  off  a 
piece  of  the  roll,  gave  it  to  the  boy,  who  was  looking 
straight  into  her  mouth. 

Korableva  in  the  meantime  handed  her  the  liquor 
bottle  and  the  cup.  Maslova  offered  some  to  Korableva 
and  Beauty.  These  three  prisoners  formed  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  cell,  because  they  had  money  and  shared  what 
they  had. 

In  a  few  minutes  Maslova  was  herself  again  and  started 
to  tell  about  the  court,  imitating  the  prosecuting  attorney 
and  everything  which  had  especially  impressed  her  in  the 
court-room.  She  was  particularly  struck  by  the  fact  that 
wherever  she  happened  to  be,  the  men,  according  to  her 
observation,  ran  after  her.     In  the  court-room  they  all 

166 


KESURRECTION  167 

looked  at  her,  she  said,  and  they  kept  all  the  time  filing 
into  the  prisoners'  room. 

"  The  guard  kept  telUng  me,  '  They  come  to  see  you.' 
Now  and  then  one  would  come  in,  pretending  to  be  look- 
ing for  a  paper,  or  something  else,  but  I  saw  that  he  did 
not  want  any  paper,  and  only  came  to  devour  me  with 
his  eyes,"  she  said,  smiling  and  shaking  her  head  as 
though  in  surprise.    "  The}^  are  great." 

"  That's  the  way,"  chimed  in  the  flagwoman,  and  her 
singsong  speech  began  at  once  to  ripple.  "  Like  flies  on 
sugar.  For  other  things  they  are  not  there,  but  for  this 
they  are  always  ready.  Not  with  bread  are  they  to  be 
fed  —  " 

"  But  even  here,"  Maslova  interrupted  her,  "  here  I  had 
the  same  trouble.  When  I  was  brought  in,  there  was  a 
party  here  from  the  train.  They  annoyed  me  so  much 
that  I  did  not  know  how  to  get  rid  of  them.  Fortunately, 
the  assistant  drove  them  off.  One  of  them  stuck  to  me 
so  that  I  had  the  hardest  time  to  keep  him  off." 

"  What  kind  of  a  fellow  was  he?  "  Beauty  asked. 

"  Swarthy,  with  moustache." 

"  That  must  be  he." 

"  Who?  " 

"  Shcheglov.    The  one  that  has  just  passed." 

"  Who  is  that  Shcheglov?  " 

"  You  do  not  know  who  Shcheglov  is?  Shcheglov 
twice  ran  away  from  hard  labour.  They  have  just 
caught  him,  but  he  will  get  away  again.  The  warders 
even  are  afraid  of  him,"  said  Beauty,  who  carried  notes  to 
prisoners,  and  who  knew  everything  that  was  going  on  in 
the  prison.     "  He  certainly  will  get  away." 

"  And  if  he  does,  he  will  not  take  us  with  him,"  said 
Korableva.  "  You  had  better  tell  me,"  she  addressed 
Maslova,  "  what  did  the  lawyer  say  about  the  petition 
which  jj-ou  will  have  to  hand  in?  " 

Mdslova  said  that  she  did  not  know  anything  about  that. 


168  RESURRECTION 

Just  then  the  red-haired  woman,  having  put  both  her 
freckled  hands  in  her  tangled,  thick,  red  hair,  and  scratch- 
ing her  head  with  her  nails,  went  up  to  the  drinking 
prisoners. 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything,  Katerina,"  she  began. 
"  First  of  all,  you  must  write,  '  I  am  not  satisfied  with 
the  judgment,'  and  then  you  must  announce  it  to  the 
prosecuting  attorney." 

"  What  is  that  to  you?  "  Korableva  turned  to  her,  in 
an  angry  bass.  "  You  have  smelled  the  liquor,  but  you 
need  not  wheedle.  We  know  without  you  what  is  to  be 
done;   we  do  not  need  you." 

''  I  am  not  talking  to  you.    Don't  get  so  excited!  " 
"  You  want  some  liquor,  that's  why  you  have  come  up." 
"  Give  her  some,"  said  Maslova,  who  always  gave  away 
everything  she  had. 

"  I  will  give  her  such  —  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  red-haired  woman,  moving  up 
to  Korableva.    "  I  am  not  afraid  of  you." 
"  Jailbird!  " 

"  I  hear  this  from  a  jailbird!  " 
"  Flabby  tripes!  " 

"  You  call  me  tripes?  You  convict,  destroyer  of 
souls!  "  cried  the  red-haired  woman. 

"  Go  away,  I  say,"  gloomily  muttered  Korableva. 
But  the  red-haired  woman  moved  up  closer,  and  Kora- 
bleva struck  her  in  the  open  fat  breast.  That  was  exactly 
what  the  red-haired  woman  seemed  to  have  been  waiting 
for,  and  suddenly  she,  with  a  swift  motion,  put  one  hand 
into  Korableva's  hair,  and  with  the  other  was  about  to 
strike  her  face,  but  Korableva  grasped  that  hand.  Maslova 
and  Beauty  caught  hold  of  the  red-haired  woman's  hands, 
trying  to  tear  her  away,  but  the  hand  which  had  hold  of 
the  hair  would  not  unbend.  She  let  it  go  for  a  second, 
but  only  to  wind  it  around  her  wrist.  Korableva,  with 
her  head  bent  down,  struck  with  one  hand  at  the  red- 


KESURKECTION  169 

* 

haired  woman's  body  and  tried  to  bite  her  arm.  The 
women  gathered  about  the  two  who  were  fighting,  trying 
to  separate  them,  and  shouting.  Even  the  consumptive 
woman  walked  up  to  them,  and,  coughing,  watched  the 
fight.  The  children  pressed  close  to  each  other  and  wept. 
At  the  noise  the  warden  and  matron  came  in.  The  fight- 
ing women  were  separated,  and  Korableva  unbraided  her 
gray  hair,  in  order  to  take  out  the  torn  tufts,  while  the 
red-haired  woman  held  her  ripped-up  shirt  against  her 
yellow  chest;   both  cried,  explaining  and  complaining. 

"  I  know,  it  is  all  on  account  of  the  hquor;  I  shall  tell 
the  superintendent  to-morrow,  —  and  he  will  settle  you. 
I  can  smell  it,"  said  the  matron.  "  Take  it  all  away,  or 
else  it  will  go  hard  with  you.  I  have  no  time  to  make 
it  all  out.    To  your  places,  and  keep  quiet!  " 

But  silence  did  not  reign  for  quite  awhile.  The  women 
continued  to  quarrel  for  a  long  time,  telling  each  other 
how  it  had  all  begun,  and  who  was  to  blame.  Finally 
the  warden  and  matron  went  away,  and  the  women  slowly 
quieted  down  and  went  to  bed.  The  old  woman  stood 
before  the  image  and  began  to  pray. 

"  Two  convicts  have  come  together,"  the  red-haired 
woman  suddenly  said  from  the  other  end  of  the  benches, 
in  a  hoarse  voice,  accompanying  each  word  with  fantastic 
curses. 

"  Look  out,  or  you  will  catch  some  more,"  immediately 
replied  Korableva,  joining  similar  curses  to  her  speech. 
Both  grew  silent. 

"  If  they  had  not  interfered,  I  should  have  gouged  out 
your  eye  —  "  again  said  the  red-haired  woman,  and  again 
Korableva  was  not  behind  with  an  answer. 

Then  there  was  a  longer  interval  of  quiet,  and  again 
curses.  The  intervals  grew  ever  longer,  and  finally  every- 
thing died  down. 

All  were  lying  on  their  benches,  and  some  were  already 
snoring;    but  the  old  woman,  who  always  prayed  long, 


170  RESURRECTION 

was  still  making  her  obeisances  before  the  image,  and  the 
sexton's  daughter  got  up  the  moment  the  matron  left,  and 
once  more  started  pacing  up  and  down  in  the  cell. 

Maslova  did  not  sleep.  She  was  thinking  all  the  time 
that  she  was  a  convict,  and  that  she  had  been  twice 
called  so,  once  by  Bochkova  and  the  other  time  by  the 
red-haired  woman,  and  she  could  not  get  used  to  the  idea. 
Korableva,  who  was  lying  with  her  back  toward  her, 
turned  around. 

"  I  had  never  expected  this,"  softly  said  Maslova. 
"  Others  do  terrible  things,  and  they  get  off,  and  I  am 
suffering  for  nothing  at  all." 

"  Don't  lose  courage,  girl.  There  are  people  in  Siberia, 
too.  You  will  not  be  lost  there,"  Korableva  consoled 
her. 

"  I  know  that  I  sha'n't  be  lost,  but  it  is  disgraceful  all 
the  same.  I  ought  to  have  had  a  different  fate.  I  am 
so  used  to  an  easy  life!  " 

"  You  can't  go  against  God,"  Korableva  said,  with  a 
sigh.     "  You  can't  go  against  Him." 

"  I  know,  aunty,  but  it  is  hard." 

They  were  silent  for  awhile. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  blubberer?  "  said  Korableva,  direct- 
ing Miislova's  attention  to  the  strange  sounds  which 
proceeded  from  the  other  end  of  the  benches. 

These  sounds  were  the  checked  sobs  of  the  red-haired 
woman.  She  was  weeping  because  she  had  just  been 
cursed  and  l^eaten,  and  had  not  received  any  liquor,  which 
she  wanted  so  much.  She  wept  also  because  all  her  life 
she  had  seen  nothing  but  scoldings,  ridicule,  affronts,  and 
blows.  She  wanted  to  find  consolation  in  thinking  of 
her  first  love  for  F6dka  Molodenkov,  a  factory  hand;  but 
upon  recalling  this  love,  she  also  recalled  its  end:  Molo- 
di'nkov,  while  drunk,  had  for  a  joke  smeared  some  vitriol 
on  her  in  a  most  sensitive  spot,  and  then  had  roared  in 
company  with  his  friends  at  the  sight  of  her,  contorted 


EESURRECTION  171 

from  pain.  She  recalled  this,  and  she  felt  sorry  for  her- 
self, and,  thinking  that  no  one  heard  her,  burst  out  into 
tears,  and  wept,  as  only  children  weep,  —  groaning  and 
snuffling  and  swallowing  her  bitter  tears. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  her,"  said  Maslova. 

"  Of  course  it  is  a  pity,  but  she  ought  not  to  push  her- 
self forward." 


XXXIII. 

The  first  sensation  which  Nekhlyiidov  experienced  on 
the  following  morning,  upon  awakening,  was  the  con- 
sciousness that  something  had  happened  to  him,  and  even 
before  he  recalled  what  it  was  that  had  happened  to  him, 
he  knew  that  something  important  and  good  had  taken 
place.  "  Katyusha,  the  court.  I  must  stop  lying,  and 
tell  the  whole  truth."  And,  like  a  remarkable  coincidence, 
that  very  morning  arrived  the  long-expected  letter  from 
Mariya  Vasilevna,  the  marshal's  wife,  the  letter  which  he 
now  needed  so  very  much.  It  gave  him  full  liberty,  and 
wished  him  hapi)iness  in  his  proposed  marriage. 

"  Marriage!  "  he  muttered  ironically.  "  How  far  I  am 
now  from  it!  " 

He  recalled  his  determination  of  the  day  before  to  tell 
everything  to  her  husband,  to  humlile  himself  before  him, 
and  to  be  ready  for  any  satisfaction.  But  on  that  morn- 
ing it  did  not  appear  as  easy  to  him  as  it  had  seemed 
the  evening  before.  "  Besides,  why  should  I  make  the 
man  unhappy,  if  he  does  not  know  it?  If  he  should  ask 
me,  I  would  tell  him.  But  to  go  on  purpose  to  him  to 
tell  about  it?    No,  that  is  not  necessary." 

Just  as  difficult  it  seemed  to  him  now  to  tell  the  whole 

truth  to  Missy.     Here  again,  it  was  impossible  to  begin 

telling   her,  —  it   would   simply   be   an   insult.      It   had 

unavoidably  to  remain,  as  in  many  affairs  of  life,  untold 

and  merely  suspected.     There  was,  however,  one  thing 

which  he  decided  on  that  morning  he  would  do:   he  would 

not  visit  them,  and  would  tell  them  the  truth  if  they 

asked  him. 

172 


KESURRECTION  173 

But  there  was  to  be  nothing  unsaid  in  his  relations 
with  Katyusha. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  prison,  will  speak  with  her,  and  will 
ask  her  to  forgive  me.     And  if  it  is  necessary,  yes,  if  it- 
is  necessary,  I  will  marry  her,"  he  thought. 

The  thought  that  for  the  sake  of  a  moral  satisfaction 
he  would  sacrifice  everything  and  would  marry  her,  was 
very  soothing  to  him  on  that  morning. 

For  a  long  time  he  had  not  met  day  with  such  energy. 
To  Agrafena  Petrovna,  who  had  come  in,  he  immediately 
announced,  with  a  decision  which  he  had  not  expected 
of  himself,  that  he  no  longer  needed  these  apartments  and 
her  service.  It  had  been  established  by  silent  consent 
that  he  kept  these  commodious  and  expensive  quarters  in 
order  to  get  married  in  them.  Consequently  giving  up 
the  rooms  had  a  special  significance.  Agrafena  Petrovna 
looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

"  I  am  very  thankful  to  you,  Agrafena  Petrovna,  for  all 
the  care  you  have  taken  of  me,  but  I  no  longer  need  such 
large  apartments  and  the  servants.  If  you  are  willing  to 
help  me,  I  shall  ask  you  kindly  to  look  after  things  and 
to  put  them  away  for  the  time  being,  as  was  done  during 
mamma's  lifetime.  When  Natasha  arrives,  she  will  attend 
to  the  rest."     (Natasha  was  Nekhlyiidov's  sister.) 

Agrafena  Petrovna  shook  her  head. 

"  But  why  put  them  away?  You  will  need  them,"  she 
said. 

"  No,  I  sha'n't  need  them,  Agrafena  Petrovna,  I  shall 
certainly  not  need  them,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  in  reply  to 
that  which  she  had  meant  by  her  headshake.  "  Please,  tell 
Korney  also  that  I  will  pay  him  for  two  months  in  ad- 
vance, but  that  I  no  longer  need  his  services." 

"  You  do  not  do  right,  Dmitri  Ivanovich,"  she  said. 
"  Suppose  even  that  you  wih  go  abroad,  —  you  will  need 
the  apartments  later." 

"  You  are  mistaken,   Agrafena  Petrovna.     I  sha'n't 


174  RESURRECTION 

go  abroad;    if  I  leave  here  it  will  be  for  a  different 
place." 

He  suddenly  grew  red  in  his  face. 

"  Yes,  I  must  tell  her/'  he  thought.  "  There  is  no 
reason  for  conceahng  it.  I  must  tell  everything  to  every- 
body." 

"  A  very  strange  and  important  thing  happened  to  me 
yesterday.  Do  you  remember  Katyusha  at  Aunt  Marya 
Ivanovna's?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do;  I  taught  her  how  to  sew." 

"  Well,  Katyusha  was  yesterday  tried  in  court,  and  I 
was  on  the  jury." 

"  O  Lord,  what  a  pity! "  said  Agrafena  Petrovna. 
"  What  was  she  tried  for?  " 

"  For  murder,  and  it  was  I  who  have  done  it  all." 

"  How  could  you  have  done  it?  You  are  speaking  so 
strangely,"  said  Agrafena  Petrovna,  and  fire  flashed  in 
her  old  e3^es. 

She  knew  Katyusha's  history. 

"  Yes,  I  am  the  cause  of  everything.  And  it  is  this 
which  has  entirely  changed  my  plans." 

"  What  change  can  that  have  caused  in  you?  "  said 
Agrafena  Petrovna,  keeping  back  a  smile. 

"  It  is  this:  if  it  is  I  who  am  the  cause  of  her  having 
gone  on  that  path,  I  must  do  everything  in  my  power  in 
order  to  help  her." 

"  Such  is  your  kindness,  —  but  there  is  no  particular 
guilt  of  yours  in  that.  Such  things  have  happened  to 
others;  and  if  they  have  the  proper  understanding,  these 
things  are  smoothed  over  and  forgotten,  and  they  hve 
on,"  Agrafena  Petrovna  said,  sternly  and  seriously,  "  and 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  shoulder  it.  I  have 
heard  before  that  she  had  departed  from  the  right  path: 
but  who  is  to  blame  for  it?  " 

"  I  am.    And  therefore  I  wish  to  mend  it." 

"  Well,  this  will  be  hard  to  mend." 


RESURRECTION  175 

"  That  is  my  affair.  And  if  you  are  thinking  of  your- 
self, that  wliich  mamma  had  desired  —  " 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself.  Your  deceased  mother 
has  provided  for  me  so  well  that  I  do  not  want  anything. 
Lizanka  wants  me  to  stay  with  her  "  (that  was  her  married 
niece),  "  and  so  I  shall  go  to  her  house  when  I  am  no 
longer  needed.  But  there  is  no  reason  for  your  taking  it  so 
to  heart,  —  Guch  things  happen  with  everybody." 

"  Well,  I  think  differently  about  that.  And  I  again  re- 
peat my  request  for  you  to  help  me  give  up  the  apart- 
ments and  put  things  away.  Don't  be  angered  at  me.  I 
am  very,  very  thankful  to  you  for  everything." 

A  strange  thing  had  happened:  ever  since  Nekhlyudov 
comprehended  that  he  was  bad  and  contemptible  himself, 
others  ceased  being  contemptible  to  him;  on  the  contrary, 
he  had  a  kind  and  respectful  feeling  even  for  Agrafena 
Petrovna  and  for  Korney.  He  wanted  to  humble  himself 
also  before  Korney,  but  his  attitude  was  so  impressively 
respectful  that  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  do  so. 

On  his  way  to  the  court-house,  passing  through  the 
same  streets  and  riding  in  the  same  cab,  Nekhlyudov 
was  marvelhng  at  himself,  for  he  felt  such  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent man. 

His  marriage  to  Missy,  which  but  3'esterday  had  seemed 
so  near,  now  appeared  to  him  as  entirely  impossible.  The 
day  before  he  had  been  so  sure  of  his  position  that  there 
was  no  doubt  but  that  she  would  have  been  very  happ}^  to 
marry  him;  but  now  he  felt  himself  to  be  unworthy  of 
marrying  her,  and  even  of  being  near  her.  "  If  she  only 
knew  what  I  am,  she  would  never  receive  me.  How 
could  I  have  had  the  courage  to  reproach  her  with  coquet- 
ting with  that  gentleman?  Suppose  even  she  should 
marry  me,  how  could  I  be  happy,  or  even  satisfied,  since 
the  other  was  in  the  prison  and  in  a  day  or  two  would 
leave  for  Siberia  on  foot?  The  woman  whom  I  have 
ruined  will  go  to  hard  labour,  and  I  shall  be  receiving 


176  RESURRECTION 

congratulations  and  making  calls  with  my  young  wife.  Or 
I  shall  be  with  the  marshal  of  the  nobihty,  whorr  I  have  so 
disgracefully  deceived  in  regard  to  his  wife,  and  counting 
up  with  him  at  the  meeting  the  votes  for  and  against  the 
proposed  County  Council  inspection  of  the  schools,  and  so 
forth,  and  then  I  shall  be  appointing  a  trysting-place  for 
his  wife  (how  detestable!);  or  shah  I  go  on  with  my  pic- 
ture, which  will  manifestly  never  be  finished,  because  I 
have  no  business  to  occupy  myself  with  such  trifles,  and 
anyhow  I  can't  do  anything  of  the  kind  now,"  he  said  to 
himself,  incessantly  rejoicing  at  the  internal  change  which 
he  was  conscious  of. 

"  Above  everything  else,"  he  thought,  "  I  must  now  see 
the  lawyer  and  find  out  his  decision,  and  then  —  then  I 
must  see  her  in  the  prison,  her,  yesterday's  prisoner,  and 
tell  her  everything." 

As  he  presented  to  himself  the  picture  of  his  meeting 
her,  of  telling  her  everything,  of  repenting  of  his  sin  before 
her,  of  announcing  to  her  that  he  would  do  everything  he 
could  for  her,  of  marrying  her  in  order  to  atone  for  his 
guilt,  —  an  ecstatic  feeling  took  possession  of  him,  and 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 


XXXIV. 

Upon  arriving  in  the  court-house,  Nekhlyudov  met  the 
baiUff  of  the  day  before  in  the  corridor;  he  asked  him 
wliere  the  prisoners  who  had  been  sentenced  by  the  court 
were  kept,  and  who  it  was  that  would  grant  permission 
to  see  them.  The  bailiff  explained  to  him  that  the  pris- 
oners were  kept  in  different  places,  and  that  previous  to 
the  announcement  of  the  sentence  in  its  final  form  the 
permission  depended  on  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

"  I  will  tell  you  when,  and  will  take  you  myself  to  him 
after  the  session.  The  prosecuting  attorney  is  not  yet 
here.  After  the  session  he  will  be.  And  now  please  go 
to  the  court-room,  —  it  will  begin  at  once." 

Nekhlyudov  thanked  the  bailiff  for  his  kindness,  though 
he  seemed  to  him  particularly  wretched  now,  and  went 
into  the  jury-room. 

As  he  went  up  to  it,  the  jurors  were  coming  out  of  it  in 
order  to  go  to  the  court-room.  The  merchant  was  as 
jolly,  and  had  had  as  good  a  lunch  and  potation  as  on  the 
previous  day,  and  he  met  Nekhlyudov  as  an  old  friend. 
Nor  did  Peter  Gerasimovich  provoke  any  disagreeable  feel- 
ing in  Nekhlyudov  by  his  familiarity  and  laughter. 

Nekhlyudov  felt  like  telling  all  the  jurors  about  his  rela- 
tions to  yesterday's  defendant.  "  In  reality,"  he  thought, 
"  I  ought  to  have  got  up  yesterday  and  have  publicly 
announced  my  guilt."  But  when  he  came  into  the  court- 
room with  the  other  jurors,  and  the  procedure  of  the  day 
before  was  repeated,  —  again  "  The  court  is  coming," 
again  three  men  on  the  platform  in  their  collars,  again  si- 
lence, and  the  sitting  down  of  the  jury  on  the  high-backed 

177 


178  RESURKECTION 

chairs,  the  gendarmes,  the  priest,  —  he  felt  that,  although 
he  ought  to  have  done  so,  he  could  not  have  had  the 
heart  on  the  previous  day  to  have  broken  this  solemnity. 

The  preparations  for  the  court  were  the  same  as  the  day 
before  (with  the  exception  of  the  swearing  in  the  jury, 
and  the  speech  of  the  presiding  judge  to  them). 

The  case  on  trial  was  for  burglary.  The  defendant, 
guarded  by  two  gendarmes  with  unsheathed  swords,  was 
a  haggard,  narrow-shouldered,  twenty-year-old  boy,  in  a 
gray  cloak,  and  with  a  gray,  bloodless  face.  He  sat  all 
alone  on  the  defendants'  bench,  and  looked  with  upturned 
eyes  on  all  who  came  in.  The  lad  was  accused  of  having, 
with  a  companion  of  his,  broken  a  barn  lock,  and  having 
stolen  from  the  barn  old  foot-mats  worth  about  three 
roubles  and  sixty-seven  kopeks.  It  appeared  from  the 
indictment  that  a  policeman  stopped  the  boy  as  he  was 
walking  with  his  companion,  who  was  carrying  the  mats 
on  his  shoulders.  The  lad  and  his  friend  at  once  con- 
fessed, and  both  were  confined  in  jail.  The  boy's  com- 
rade, a  locksmith,  had  died  in  prison,  and  now  he  was 
being  tried  by  himself.  The  old  mats  lay  on  the  table  of 
the  exhibits. 

The  case  was  conducted  just  hke  the  one  the  day  be- 
fore, with  the  whole  arsenal  of  proofs,  evidence,  witnesses, 
their  swearing  in,  inquests,  experts,  and  cross-examina- 
tions. The  poHceman,  who  was  the  witness,  to  all  the 
questions  of  the  presiding  judge,  of  the  prosecutor,  and  of 
the  prisoner's  counsel  lifelessly  retorted,  "  Yes,  sir," 
"  Don't  know,  sir,"  and  again,  "  Yes,  sir."  Still,  in  spite  of 
his  soldierlike  stupidity  and  mechanicalness,  it  was  evident 
that  he  was  sorry  for  the  lad,  and  reluctantly  told  of  his 
arrest. 

Another  witness,  the  old  man  who  had  suffered  the 
loss,  the  proprietor  of  the  house  and  owner  of  the  mats, 
obviously  a  bilious  man,  to  the  question  whether  he  iden- 
tified his  mats,  ver^  reluctantl;^  answered  that  be  did;  but 


RESURRECTION  179 

when  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney  began  to  ask  him 
to  what  use  he  intended  to  put  the  mats,  and  whether  he 
needed  them  very  much,  he  grew  angry  and  replied:  "  May 
these  mats  go  to  —  I  do  not  need  them  at  all.  If  I  had 
known  how  much  bother  I  should  have  through  them,  I 
should  not  have  tried  to  find  them;  on  the  contrary, 
I  should  willingly  have  given  a  ten-rouble  bill,  or  two,  to 
be  delivered  from  these  questions.  I  have  spent  some- 
thing like  five  roubles  on  cabs  alone.  And  I  am  not  well: 
I  have  a  rupture  and  rheumatism." 

Thus  spoke  the  witnesses;  but  the  defendant  himself 
accused  himself  of  everything,  and,  looking  senselessly 
around,  like  a  trapped  animal,  in  a  broken  voice  told  all 
that  hatl  happened. 

It  was  a  clear  ease;  but  the  assistant  prosecuting  at- 
torney kept  raising  his  shoulders  as  on  the  day  before, 
and  putting  cunning  questions  with  which  to  catch  the 
criminal. 

In  his  speech  he  pointed  out  that  the  burglary  had 
been  committed  in  an  occupied  building;  that  conse- 
quently the  lad  ought  to  be  subjected  to  a  very  severe 
punishment. 

The  counsel  appointed  by  the  court  proved  that  the 
theft  was  not  committed  in  an  occupied  building,  and 
that  therefore,  although  the  crime  could  not  be  denied, 
the  criminal  was  not  yet  as  dangerous  to  society  as  the 
assistant  prosecuting  attorney  had  made  him  out  to  be. 

The  presiding  judge,  just  as  on  the  day  before,  looked 
dispassionateness  and  justice  themselves,  and  explained 
to  the  jury  in  detail  and  impressed  upon  them  what  they 
already  knew  and  could  not  help  knowing.  Just  as  on 
the  previous  day,  recesses  were  made;  and  just  so  they 
smoked;  and  just  so  the  bailiff  cried,  "The  court  is 
coming!  "  and  just  so,  trying  not  to  fall  asleep,  the  two 
gendarmes  sat  with  their  unsheathed  swords,  threatening 
the  prisoner. 


180  RESURRECTION 

The  case  revealed  that  the  lad  had  been  apprenticed  to 
a  tobacco  factory  while  still  a  boy,  and  that  he  had  lived 
there  five  years.  This  last  year  he  had  been  discharged 
by  his  master  during  some  unpleasantness  which  had 
taken  place  between  the  master  and  his  workmen,  and, 
being  without  any  occupation,  he  walked  aimlessly 
through  the  city,  spending  his  last  money  in  drinks.  In 
an  inn  he  fell  in  with  a  locksmith,  who,  like  him,  had 
lost  his  place  quite  awhile  ago,  and  who  had  been  drink- 
ing heavily.  In  the  night,  while  under  the  influence  of 
liquor,  they  broke  open  the  lock  and  took  the  first  thing 
that  fell  into  their  hands.  They  were  caught.  They 
confessed  everything.  They  were  confined  in  jail,  await- 
ing trial,  and  here  the  locksmith  died.  Now  the  lad  was 
being  tried  as  a  dangerous  creature  against  whom  society 
must  be  protected. 

"  Just  as  dangerous  a  creature  as  the  criminal  of  yes- 
terday," thought  Nekhlyudov,  listening  to  everything 
which  was  going  on  before  him.  "  They  are  dangerous. 
And  are  we  not?  —  I,  a  libertine,  a  cheat;  and  all  of  us, 
all  those  who,  knowing  me  such  as  I  was,  not  only  did 
not  despise  me,  but  even  respected  me  ? 

"  It  is  evident  that  this  boy  is  not  a  peculiar  criminal, 
but  a  simple  man  (all  see  that),  and  if  he  has  turned  out 
to  be  what  he  is,  it  is  due  to  the  conditions  which  breed 
such  men.  And  therefore  it  is  obvious  that,  in  order  not 
to  have  such  boys,  one  must  try  and  do  away  with  the 
conditions  under  which  such  unfortunate  creatures  are 
produced.  If  only  a  man  had  been  found,"  thought 
Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  the  lad's  sickly,  frightened  face, 
"  who  would  have  taken  care  of  him  when  from  want  he 
was  taken  from  the  village  to  the  city,  and  would  have 
attended  to  his  want;  or  even  when  in  the  city,  after 
twelve  hours'  work  in  the  factory,  he  went  with  his 
older  companions  to  the  inn,  —  if  a  man  had  been  found 
then,  who  would  have  said  to  him,  '  Don't  go,  Vanya,  it  is 


\ 


RESURRECTION  181 

not  good!  '  the  lad  would  not  have  gone,  would  not  have 
got  mixed  up,  and  would  not  have  done  anything  wrong. 

"  But  no  such  man,  who  would  have  pitied  him,  was 
found,  not  a  single  one,  when  he,  hke  a  little  animal, 
passed  his  apprenticeship  in  the  city,  and,  closely  cropped 
in  order  not  to  breed  vermin,  ran  his  master's  errands; 
on  the  contrary,  everything  he  heard  from  his  master 
and  companions,  during  his  sojourn  in  the  city,  was  that 
clever  is  he  who  cheats,  who  drinks,  who  curses,  who 
strikes,  and  who  is  dissolute. 

"  And  when  he,  sick  and  deteriorated  by  his  unhealthy 
work,  by  drunkenness  and  debauch,  in  a  stupor  and  be- 
side himself,  as  though  in  a  dream,  walked  aimlessly 
through  the  city,  and  in  his  foolishness  made  his  way 
into  a  barn  and  took  perfectly  worthless  mats  away  from 
there,  we  did  not  try  to  destroy  the  causes  which  had  led 
the  boy  to  his  present  condition,  but  expect  to  improve 
matters  by  punishing  this  boy!  — 

"  Terrible!  " 

Nekhlyudov  thought  all  that,  and  no  longer  listened 
to  what  was  going  on  before  him.  And  he  was  horror- 
struck  by  what  was  revealed  to  him.  He  was  amazed  at 
the  fact  that  he  had  not  seen  this  before,  even  as  others 
had  not  seen  it. 


XXXV. 

When  the  first  recess  was  made,  Nekhlyudov  arose  and 
went  into  the  corridor,  with  the  intention  of  not  return- 
ing to  the  court-room.  Let  them  do  what  they  would, 
he  could  no  longer  take  part  in  such  a  comedy. 

Upon  finding  out  where  the  prosecuting  attorney's 
office  was,  Nekhlyudov  went  to  it.  The  messenger  did 
not  wish  to  admit  him,  saying  that  the  prosecuting 
attorney  was  busy  now;  but  Nekhlyudov  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  him,  walked  through  the  door,  and  asked  an 
official  whom  he  met  inside  to  announce  to  the  prose- 
cuting attorney  that  he  was  a  juror,  and  that  he  must  see 
him  on  some  very  important  business.  Nekhlyiidov's 
title  and  fine  apparel  helped  him.  The  official  announced 
him  to  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and  Nekhlyudov  was 
admitted.  The  prosecuting  attorney  received  him  stand- 
ing, manifestly  dissatisfied  with  Nekhlyiidov's  insistence 
to  get  an  interview  with  him. 

"  What  do  you  wish?  "  the  prosecuting  attorney  asked 
him,  sternly. 

"  I  am  a  juror,  my  name  is  Nekhlyudov,  and  I  must 
by  all  means  see  the  defendant  Maslova,"  Nekhlyudov 
spoke  rapidly  and  with  determination,  blushing  and  feel- 
ing that  he  was  committing  a  deed  that  would  have  a 
decisive  influence  on  his  whole  life. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  was  a  small,  swarthy  man, 
with  short  hair  streaked  with  gray,  quick,  shining  eyes, 
and  a  thick,  clipped  beard  on  a  protruding  lower  jaw. 

"  Maslova?  Yes,  I  know  her.  She  was  accused  of 
poisoning,"  the  prosecuting  attorney  said,  calmly.   "  Why 

182 


RESURRECTION  183 

must  you  see  her?  "  And  then,  as  though  wishing  to  be 
less  harsh,  he  added,  "  I  cannot  give  you  the  permission 
without  knowing  why  you  need  it," 

"  I  need  it  for  something  which  is  of  great  importance 
to  me,"  Nekhlyudov  said,  flaming  up. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and,  rais- 
ing his  eyes,  "  Has  her  case  been  tried?  " 

"  She  was  tried  j-esterday  and  quite  irregularly  sen- 
tenced to  four  years  of  hard  labour.    She  is  innocent." 

"  Very  well.  If  she  was  sentenced  yesterday,"  said 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  not  paying  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  Nekhlyudov's  announcement  that  Maslova  was 
innocent,  "  she  will  be  kept,  until  the  promulgation  of 
the  sentence  in  its  final  form,  in  the  house  of  detention. 
Visitors  are  permitted  there  only  on  certain  days.  I 
advise  you  to  apply  there." 

"  But  I  must  see  her  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Nekhlyu- 
dov, with  tremloling  lower  jaw,  feeling  the  approach  of 
the  decisive  moment. 

"  But  why  must  you?  "  asked  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
raising  his  .eyebrows  with  some  misgiving. 

"  Because  she  is  innocent  and  sentenced  to  hard  labour. 
I  am  the  cause  of  everything,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  in  a 
quivering  voice,  feeling  all  the  time  that  he  was  saying 
what  he  ought  not  to  mention. 

"  How  is  that?  "  asked  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

"  Because  I  have  deceived  her  and  brought  her  to  the 
condition  in  which  she  now  is.  If  she  had  not  been  what 
I  have  made  her  to  be,  she  would  not  now  have  been  sub- 
jected to  such  an  accusation." 

"  Still  I  do  not  see  what  connection  that  has  with  your 
visit." 

"  It  is  this:  I  wish  to  follow  her  —  marry  her,"  Nekh- 
lyudov said,  and,  as  always  when  he  spoke  of  it,  teai"s 
stood  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes?   I    say!"  remarked   the  prosecuting   attorney. 


184  RESURRECTION 

"  This  is  indeed  an  exceptional  case.  You  are,  I  think, 
a  voter  in  the  County  Council  of  Krasnopersk  County?  " 
asked  the  prosecuting  attorney,  recalling  the  fact  that  he 
had  heard  before  about  this  Nekhlyudov,  who  now  was 
expressing  such  a  strange  determination. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  do  not  think  that  this  can  have 
anything  to  do  with  my  request,"  angrily  answered 
Nekhlyudov,  flaming. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  with 
a  hardly  perceptible  smile,  and  not  in  the  least  embar- 
rassed, "  but  your  wish  is  so  unusual  and  so  transcends 
all  customary  forms  —  " 

"  Well,  shall  I  get  the  permission?  " 

"  The  permission?  Yes,  I  shall  give  you  the  permit  at 
once.     Please  be  seated." 

He  went  up  to  the  table,  sat  down,  and  began  to  write. 

"  Please  be  seated." 

Neklilyudov  remained  standing. 

Having  written  the  permit,  the  prosecuting  attorney 
gave  the  note  to  Neklilyudov,  looking  at  him  with  curi- 
osity. 

"  I  must  also  inform  you,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  "  that 
I  cannot  continue  to  be  present  at  the  session  of  the 
court." 

"  For  this,  you  know,  you  must  present  good  cause  to 
the  court." 

"  The  cause  is  that  I  regard  every  court  not  only  as 
useless,  but  even  as  immoral." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  with  the 
same  hardly  perceptible  smile,  as  though  to  say  with  this 
smile  that  he  had  heard  such  statements  before,  and  that 
they  belonged  to  a  well-known  funny  category.  "  Very 
well,  but  you,  no  doubt,  understand  that,  as  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney  of  the  court,  I  cannot  agree  with  you;  there- 
fore I  advise  you  to  announce  it  in  court,  and  the  court 
will  pass  on  your  information,  and  will  find  it  sufficient 


\ 


RESURRECTION  185 

or  insufficient,  and  in  the  latter  case  will  impose  a  fine 
upon  you.     Address  the  court!  " 

"  I  have  informed  you,  and  sha'n't  go  elsewhere," 
Nekhlyudov  rephed,  angrily. 

"  Your  servant,  sir,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
bending  his  head,  evidently  wishing  to  be  rid  of  that 
strange  visitor. 

"  Who  was  here?  "  asked  the  member  of  the  court,  who 
came  into  the  prosecuting  attorney's  office  as  soon  as 
Nekhlyudov  had  left. 

"  Nekhlyudov,  you  know,  who  has  been  making  all 
kinds  of  strange  proposals  in  the  County  Council  of 
Krasnopersk  County.  Think  of  it,  he  is  a  juror,  and 
among  the  defendants  there  was  a  woman,  or  girl,  who 
has  been  sentenced  to  hard  labour,  who,  he  says,  was 
deceived  by  him,  and  whom  he  now  wants  to  marry." 

"  Impossible!  " 

"  He  told  me  so.    He  was  strangely  excited." 

"  There  is   a  certain   abnormality   in   modern  young 


men." 


"  But  he  is  not  so  very  young." 

"  Oh,  how  your  famous  Ivashenkov  has  tired  me  out. 
He  vanquishes  by  exhaustion;  he  talks  and  talks  with- 
out  end." 

"  They  simply  have  to  be  stopped,  —  they  are  nothing 
but  obstructionists  —  " 


XXXVI. 

From  the  prosecuting  attorney  Nekhlyiidov  drove 
directly  to  the  house  of  detention.  But  it  turned  out 
that  there  was  no  Maslova  there,  and  the  superintendent 
told  Nekhlyudov  that  she  must  be  in  the  old  transporta- 
tion jail.     Nekhlyudov  drove  thither. 

Katerfna  Maslova  was  actually  there. 

The  distance  from  the  house  of  detention  to  the  trans- 
portation jail  was  very  great,  and  Nekhlyudov.  reached 
the  prison  only  toward  evening.  He  wanted  to  walk  up 
to  the  door  of  the  huge,  gloomy  building,  but  the  sentry 
did  not  let  him  in,  and  only  rang  a  bell.  A  warden  came 
out  in  reply  to  the  bell.  Neiihl3mdov  showed  him  his 
permit,  but  the  warden  said  that  he  could  not  let  him  in 
without  his  seeing  the  superintendent.  Nekhlyudov  went 
to  the  superintendent's  apartments.  While  ascending  the 
staircase,  Nekhlyudov  heard  behind  the  door  the  sounds 
of  a  complicated,  florid  piece  performed  on  the  piano. 
When  an  angry  chambermaid,  with  an  eye  tied  up,  opened 
the  door  for  him,  the  sounds  seemed  to  burst  from  the 
room  and  to  strike  his  ears.  It  was  a  tiresome  rhapsody 
by  Liszt,  well  played,  but  only  to  a  certain  point.  When- 
ever this  point  was  reached,  the  same  thing  was  repeated. 
Nekhlyudov  asked  the  tied-up  chambermaid  whether  the 
superintendent  was  at  home. 

The  chambermaid  said  he  was  not. ' 

"  Will  he  soon  be  here?  " 

The  rhapsody  again  stopped,  and  was  again  repeated 

brilliantly  and  noisily  up  to  the  enchanted  place. 

"  I  will  ask." 

186 


RESTJRRECTIOK  187 

The  chambermaid  went  out. 

The  rhapsody  again  started  on  its  mad  rush,  but,  before 
reaching  the  enchanted  place,  it  broke  off,  and  a  voice 
was  heard. 

"  Tell  him  that  he  is  not  here  and  will  not  be  to-day. 
He  is  out  calhng,  —  and  what  makes  them  so  persistent?  " 
was  heard  a  woman's  voice  behind  the  door,  and  again  the 
rhapsody;  but  it  stopped  once  more,  and  the  sound  of  a 
chair's  being  removed  was  heard.  Evidently  the  angered 
performer  wanted  to  give  a  piece  of  her  mind  to  the  per- 
sistent visitor,  who  had  come  at  such  an  unseasonable 
time. 

"  Papa  is  not  here,"  angrily  spoke  a  puny,  pale  girl, 
with  puffed-up  hair  and  blue  rings  under  her  gloomy 
eyes,  upon  coming  up.  But  when  she  saw  a  young  man  in 
a  fine  overcoat,  she  relented.  "  Come  in,  if  you  please. 
What  do  you  wish?  " 

"  I  wish  to  see  a  prisoner." 

"  A  political  prisoner?  " 

"  No,  not  a  political  prisoner.  I  have  a  permit  from 
the  prosecuting  attorney." 

"  I  can't  help  you;  papa  is  away.  Please,  come  in," 
she  again  called  him  away  from  the  small  antechamber. 
"  You  had  better  see  his  assistant,  who  is  in  the  office,  and 
speak  with  him.    What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Thank  3^ou,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  without  answering  the 
question,  and  went  out. 

The  door  was  hardly  closed  behind  him,  when  the 
same  brisk,  lively  tune  was  heard;  it  was  badly  out  of 
place,  considering  the  surroundings  and  the  face  of  the 
miserable-looking  girl  who  was  trying  to  learn  it  by 
heart.  In  the  yard  Nekhlyudov  met  a  young  officer  with 
stiffly  pomaded  moustache,  dyed  black,  and  asked  him 
for  the  superintendent's  assistant.  It  was  he.  He  took 
the  permit,  looked  at  it,  and  said  that  he  could  not 
take  it  upon  himself  to   admit  on   a   permit   for   the 


188  RESURRECTION 

house  of  detention.  "  Besides,  it  is  late.  Please  come  to- 
morrow. To-morrow  at  ten  o'clock  anybody  may  visit. 
You  come  to-morrow,  and  you  will  find  the  superintendent 
at  home.  Then  you  may  see  her  in  the  general  visiting- 
room,  or,  if  the  superintendent  gives  you  permission,  in 
the  office." 

Thus,  without  having  obtained  an  interview,  Nekh- 
lyiidov  drove  home  again.  Agitated  by  the  thought 
of  seeing  her,  Nekhlyudov  walked  through  the  streets, 
thinking  not  of  the  court,  but  of  his  conversations  with 
the  prosecuting  attorney  and  the  superintendents.  His 
endeavour  to  get  an  interview  with  her,  and  his  telling 
the  prosecuting  attorney  of  his  intention,  and  his  visit  to 
two  prisons  so  excited  him  that  he  was  not  able  for  a  long 
time  ^So  compose  himself.  Upon  arriving  at  home,  he 
took  but  his  long  neglected  diaries,  read  a  few  passages 
in  them,  and  wrote  down  the  following: 

"  For  two  years  I  have  not  kept  my  diary,  and  I  thought 
I  should  never  return  to  this  childish  occupation.  It  was, 
however,  not  a  childish  tiling,  but  a  converse  with  myself, 
with  that  genuine,  divine  self,  which  lives  in  every  man. 
All  this  time  my  ego  has  been  asleep,  and  I  had  no  one 
to  talk  to.  It  was  awakened  by  an  unusual  incident 
on  the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  in  court,  while  I  was 
on  the  jury.  I  saw  her  on  the  defendants'  bench,  her,  Ka- 
tyusha, seduced  by  me,  in  a  prison  cloak.  By  a  strange 
misunderstanding,  and  by  my  mistake,  she  has  been  sen- 
tenced to  hard  labour.  I  have  just  come  back  from  the 
prosecuting  attorney  and  from  the  jail.  I  was  not  per- 
mitted to  see  her,  but  I  have  determined  to  do  everything 
in  order  to  see  her,  to  repent  before  her,  and  to  atone  for 
my  guilt,  even  by  marrying  her.  Lord,  aid  me!  My 
heart  is  light  and  rejoicing." 


XXXVII. 

Maslova  could  not  for  a  long  time  fall  asleep  on  that 
night;  she  lay  with  open  eyes,  and,  looking  for  a  long 
time  at  the  door,  which  was  now  and  then  shaded  by  the 
sexton's  daughter,  who  was  pacing  to  and  fro,  was  lost  in 
thought. 

She  was  thinking  that  she  would  under  no  condition 
marry  a  convict  on  the  island  of  Sakhalin,  but  that  she 
would  arrange,  things  differently.  She  would  ente  into 
relations  with  some  official,  with  a  scribe,  or  with  a  warden, 
or  with  some  assistant.  They  were  all  prone  to  such 
things.  "  Only  I  must  not  be  worn  out,  for  then  all  is 
lost."  And  she  recalled  how  the  counsel  looked  at  her, 
and  the  presiding  judge,  and  all  the  people  in  the  court- 
house, who  met  her  or  purposely  came  to  see  her.  She 
recalled  what  Berta,  who  had  visited  her  in  the  jail,  had 
told  her  about  the  student,  whom  she  had  liked  while 
living  at  Kitaeva's,  and  who,  upon  calling  there,  had 
asked  for  her,  and  was  sorry  for  her.  She  recalled  the 
*  brawl  with  the  red-haired  woman,  and  she  was  sorry 
for  her;  she  recalled  the  baker,  who  had  sent  her  out 
an  additional  roll.  She  recalled  many  persons,  but  not 
Nekhlyiidov.  She  never  thought  of  her  childhood  and 
youth,  and  especially  of  her  love  for  Nekhlyiidov.  That 
was  too  painful.  Those  recollections  lay  somewhere 
deep  and  untouched  in  her  soul.  Even  in  her  sleep  had 
she  never  seen  Nekhlyiidov.  She  had  not  recognized 
him  that  morning  at  court,  not  so  much  because  when 
she  had  seen  him  the  last  time  he  had  been  a  military 

man,    without    a    beard,    with    short    moustache,    and 

189 


190  RESURRECTION 

with  short,  thick,  waving  hair,  whereas  now  he  was  a  man 
of  middle  age,  with  a  beard,  as  because  she  never  thought 
of  him.  She  had  buried  all  her  recollections  of  her 
past  with  him  on  that  terrible,  dark  night,  when  he 
did  not  stop  over  at  his  aunts'  upon  his  way  from  the 
army. 

Up  to  that  night,  while  she  had  hoped  that  he  would 
come  to  see  them,  she  not  only  did  not  feel  the  burden 
of  the  child  which  she  was  carrying  under  her  heart,  but 
often  with  rapturous  surprise  watched  its  soft  and  fre- 
quently impetuous  motion  within  her.  But  with  that 
night  everything  was  changed.  The  future  child  from 
then  on  was  only  a  hindrance. 

The  aunts  expected  Nekhlyudov  and  had  asked  him 
to  stop  over,  but  he  telegraphed  to  them  that  he  could 
not  because  he  had  to  be  in  St.  Petersburg  on  time. 
When  Katyusha  learned  this,  she  determined  to  go  to 
the  station  in  order  to  see  him.  The  train  was  to  pass 
there  in  the  night,  at  two  o'clock.  Katyusha  saw  the 
ladies  off  to  bed;  she  asked  the  cook's  daughter,  Mashka, 
to  accompany  her,  put  on  some  old  shoes,  covered  herself 
with  a  kerchief,  tucked  up  her  skirt,  and  ran  down  to  the 
station. 

It  was  a  dark,  rainy,  windy  autumn  night.  The  rain 
now  splashed  its  large  warm  drops,  now  stopped.  In  the 
field,  the  road  could  not  be  seen  underfoot,  and  in  the 
forest  everything  was  dark  as  in  a  stove,  and  Katyusha, 
who  knew  the  road  well,  lost  her  way  in  the  woods,  and 
reached  the  small  station,  where  the  train  stopped  only 
three  minutes,  not  ahead  of  time,  as  she  had  expected  to 
do,  but  after  the  second  bell.  Upon  running  out  on  the 
platform,  Katyusha  immediately  noticed  him  in  the  win- 
dow of  a  car  of  the  First  Class.  There  was  a  very  bright 
light  in  that  car.  Two  officers  were  sitting  opposite  each 
other  on  the  velvet  seats,  and  playing  cards.  On  the 
little  table  near  the  window  two  stout,  guttering  candles 


RESURRECTION  191 

were  burning.  He  was  sitting,  in  tightly  fitting  riding 
breeches  and  white  shirt,  on  the  arm  of  the  seat,  leaning 
against  the  back,  and  laughing  at  something. 

The  moment  she  recognized  him,  she  knocked  at  the 
window  with  her  frosted  hand.  But  just  then  the  third 
bell  rang  out,  and  the  train  began  slowly  to  move,  — 
first  backwards,  —  then  one  after  another  the  carriages  be- 
gan to  move  forwards  in  jerks.  One  of  the  card-players 
rose  with  his  cards  and  looked  through  the  window.  She 
knocked  a  second  time,  and  put  her  face  to  the  pane.  Just 
then  the  car  at  which  she  stood  gave  a  jerk  and  began  to 
move.  She  walked  along  with  it,  and  looked  through 
the  window.  The  officer  wanted  to  let  down  the  window 
but  could  not  do  it.  Nekhlyiidov  pushed  him  aside,  and 
started  to  let  down  the  window.  The  train  was  increas- 
ing its  speed,  so  that  Katyusha  had  to  run  along.  The 
train  went  faster  still,  and  the  window  at  last  was  let 
down.  Just  then  the  conductor  pushed  her  aside  and 
jumped  into  the  car.  She  fell  behind,  but  still  contin- 
ued to  run  over  the  wet  boards  of  the  platform:  then  the 
platform  came  to  an  end,  and  Katyusha  had  to  exert  all 
her  strength  to  keep  herself  from  falling  as  she  ran  down 
the  steps  to  the  ground.  She  was  still  running,  though 
the  car  of  the  First  Class  was  already  far  beyond  her. 
Past  her  raced  the  cars  of  the  Second  Class;  and  then, 
faster  still,  the  cars  of  the  Third  Class,  but  she  still  ran. 
When  the  last  car  with  the  lamps  rushed  by  her,  she 
was  already  beyond  the  water-tower,  beyond  protec- 
tion, and  the  wind  struck  her  and  carried  off  the  kerchief 
from  her  head,  and  on  one  side  blew  her  garments  against 
her  running  feet.  The  kerchief  was  borne  away  by  the 
wind,  but  she  still  ran. 

"  Aunty  Mikhaylovna!  "  cried  the  girl,  barely  catching 
up  with  her,  "  you  have  lost  your  kerchief!  " 

Katyusha  stopped  and,  throwing  back  her  head  and 
clasping  it  with  both  her  hands,  sobbed  out  aloud. 


192  RESURRECTION 

"  He  is  gone!  "  she  cried. 

"  He,  seated  in  a  gaily  lighted  car,  on  a  velvet  seat,  is 
playing  and  drinking,  —  and  I  am  standing  here,  in  the 
mud  and  darkness,  in  the  rain  and  wind,  and  weeping," 
she  thought  to  herself,  and  sat  down  on  the  ground  and 
wept  so  loud  that  the  girl  was  frightened  and  embraced 
her  damp  clothes. 

"  Aunty,  let  us  go  home!  " 

"  A  train  will  pass,  —  under  the  wheels,  and  the  end 
of  it,"  Katyusha  thought  in  the  meantime,  without 
answering  the  girl. 

She  decided  she  would  do  so.  But  just  then,  as  always 
happens  in  the  first  quiet  moment  after  agitation,  the 
child,  his  child,  wliich  was  within  her,  suddenly  jerked, 
and  thumped,  and  then  moved  more  softly,  and  then 
again  thumped  with  something  thin,  tender,  and  sharp. 
And  suddenly  all  that  which  a  minute  ago  had  so  tor- 
mented her,  so  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  continue 
to  live  thus,  all  her  anger  at  him  and  her  desire  to  have 
her  revenge  upon  him,  even  though  through  death, 
all  that  was  suddenly  removed  from  her.  She  calmed 
down,  got  up,  put  on  her  kerchief,  and  walked  home. 

Fatigued,  wet,  soiled,  she  returned  home,  and  from  that 
day  began  that  spiritual  change,  from  the  consequences 
of  which  she  became  what  she  now  was.  From  that 
terrible  night  she  ceased  to  believe  in  God  and  goodness. 
Ere  this  she  had  believed  in  God  and  had  believed  that 
others  believed  in  Him;  but  from  that  night  on  she  was 
convinced  that  nobody  believed  in  Him,  and  that  every- 
thing which  was  said  of  God  and  His  Law  was  deception 
and  injustice.  He,  whom  she  had  loved,  and  who  had 
loved  her,  —  she  knew  that,  —  had  abandoned  her,  mak- 
ing light  of  her  feelings.  And  yet  he  was  the  best  man 
she  had  ever  known.  All  the  others  were  worse  still. 
Everything  which  happened  to  her  confirmed  her  at 
every  step  in  her  view.     His  aunts,  who  were  pious  old 


RESURRECTION  193 

women,  sent  her  away  when  she  was  not  able  to  serve 
them  as  before.  All  people  with  whom  she  came  in 
contact  wanted  to  get  some  advantage  from  her :  women 
tried  to  gain  money  through  her,  while  men,  beginning 
with  the  country  judge,  coming  down  to  the  wardens  of 
the  prison,  looked  upon  her  as  an  object  of  pleasure. 
Nobody  in  the  world  cared  for  anything  else.  She  was 
still  more  confirmed  in  this  by  the  old  author,  with 
whom  she  lived  in  the  second  year  of  her  free  life.  He 
told  her  straight  out  that  in  this  —  he  called  it  poetry 
and  aesthetics  —  consisted  all  happiness. 

Everybody  lived  only  for  himself,  for  his  pleasure,  and 
all  words  about  God  and  goodness  were  only  a  deception. 
If  ever  questions  arose  such  as  why  everything  in  the 
world  was  so  bad  that  everybody  harmed  everybody  else 
and  everybody  suffered,  one  ought  not  to  think  of  them. 
If  you  feel  lonely,  you  smoke  a  cigarette  or  take  a  drink, 
or,  still  better,  you  make  love  to  a  man,  and  it  all  dis- 
appears. 


XXXVIII. 

On  the  following  day,  it  being  a  Sunday,  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the  customary  whistle  was 
blown  in  the  women's  corridor  of  the  prison,  Korableva, 
who  was  not  sleeping,  awoke  Maslova. 

"  Convict,"  Maslova  thought  in  terror,  rubbing  her  eyes 
and  involuntarily  inhaling  the  terribly  stinking  air  of  the 
morning;  she  wanted  to  fall  asleep  again,  to  pass  into 
the  realm  of  unconsciousness,  but  the  habit  of  fear  was 
stronger  than  sleep,  and  she  got  up,  drew  up  her  legs, 
and  began  to  look  around.  The  women  w^ere  all  up,  but 
the  children  were  still  asleep.  The  dram-shopkeeper 
with  the  bulging  eyes  softly  pulled  the  cloak  from  under- 
neath the  children,  so  as  not  to  wake  them.  The  riotous 
woman  was  hanging  out  near  the  stove  some  rags  that 
served  as  diapers,  while  the  baby  was  yelling  in  the  arms 
of  blue-eyed  Fedosya,  who  was  swaying  with  it  and 
singing  to  it  in  her  gentle  voice. 

The  consumptive  woman,  holding  her  chest,  and  with 
suffused  face,  was  coughing  and,  in  the  intervals,  breath- 
ing heavily,  and  almost  crying.  The  red-haired  woman 
lay  awake,  with  her  abdomen  upwards,  and  bending 
under  her  stout  legs,  and  in  a  loud  and  merry  voice  told 
the  dream  which  she  had  had.  The  old  incendiary  again 
stood  before  the  image  and,  continually  repeating  the 
same  words  in  an  undertone,  crossed  herself  and  made 
low  obeisances.  The  sexton's  daughter  sat  motionless 
on  the  bench  and  gazed  in  front  of  her  with  her  sleepy, 
dull  eyes.     Beauty  was  curling  her  coarse,   oily  black 

hair  about  her  finger. 

194 


RESUREECTION"  195 

In  tlio  corridor  were  heard  steps  of  i)lasliing  prison 
shoes;  the  keys  rattled,  and  there  entered  two  convict 
privy-cleaners,  in  blouses  and  gray  trousers  that  did  not 
reach  down  to  their  ankles,  and,  with  serious,  angry  looks, 
raising  the  stink-vat  on  the  yoke,  carried  it  out  of  the 
cell.  The  women  went  into  the  corridor,  to  the  faucets, 
to  wash  themselves.  At  the  water-basin  the  red-haired 
woman  started  a  quarrel  with  a  woman  who  had  come 
out  from  another,  a  neighbouring  cell.  Again  curses, 
shouts,   complaints  — 

"  Do  you  want  the  career?  "  cried  the  warden,  strik- 
ing the  red-haired  woman  on  her  fat  bare  back  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  blow  reechoed  through  the  corridor. 
"  Don't  let  me  hear  your  voice  again!  " 

"  I  declare,  the  old  fehow  is  a  little  wild  to-day,"  said 
the  red-haired  woman,  looking  upon  that  treatment  of 
her  as  a  special  favour. 

"  Lively  there!    Get  ready  for  the  mass!  " 

Maslova  had  not  had  a  chance  to  comb  her  hair  when 
the  superintendent  arrived  with  his  suite. 

"  Roll-call!  "  cried  the  warden.  From  the  other  cells 
came  other  prisoners,  and  they  all  stationed  themselves 
in  two  rows  along  the  corridor,  the  women  in  the  rear 
placing  their  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  those  in  the 
front  row.    They  were  all  counted. 

After  the  roll-call  the  matron  came  and  led  the  pris- 
oners to  church.  Maslova  and  Fedosya  were  in  the 
middle  of  the  column,  which  consisted  of  more  than  one 
hundred  women  from  all  the  cells.  They  all  wore  white 
kerchiefs,  bodices,  and  skirts,  but  now  and  then  there 
was  a  woman  in  coloured  garments.  Those  were  women 
with  their  children,  who  were  following  their  husbands. 
The  whole  staircase  was  taken  up  l)y  that  procession. 
There  was  heard  the  soft  tread  of  the  feet  in  the  prison 
shoes,  and  conversation,  and  at  times  laughter.  At  the 
turning,  Maslova  caught  sight  of  the  angry  face  of  her 


196  RESURRECTION 

enemy,  Bochkova,  who  was  walking  in  front,  and  she 
pointed  her  out  to  Fedosya.  On  arriving  down-stairs, 
the  women  grew  silent  and,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
and  bowing,  walked  through  the  open  door  into  the 
empty  church,  sparkling  with  its  gold.  Their  places 
were  on  the  right,  and  they,  crowding  and  pressing  each 
other,  took  up  their  positions.  Soon  after  the  women, 
entered  the  men  in  gray  cloaks;  they  were  transport  con- 
victs, or  those  who  were  serving  time  in  the  prison,  or  who 
were  transported  by  the  decree  of  Communes;  they  cleared 
their  throats,  and  placed  themselves  in  compact  masses  on 
the  left  and  in  the  middle  of  the  church.  Above,  in  the 
choir,  stood  the  prisoners  who  had  been  brought  there 
before;  on  one  side,  with  half  their  heads  shaven,  the 
hard-labour  convicts,  who  betrayed  their  presence  by  the 
clanking  of  their  chains;  and  on  the  other,  unshaven  and 
without  fetters,  those  who  were  confined  pending  trial. 

The  prison  church  had  been  newly  erected  and  fur- 
nished by  a  rich  merchant,  who  had  spent  for  this  purpose 
several  tens  of  thousands  of  roubles,  and  it  was  all  agleam 
with  bright  colours  and  gold. 

For  some  time  silence  reigned  in  the  church,  and  one 
could  hear  only  the  clearing  of  noses  and  throats,  the 
cries  of  infants,  and  occasionally  the  clanking  of  the 
chains.  But  now  the  prisoners  who  stood  in  the  middle 
began  to  move  and,  pressing  against  each  other,  left  a 
path  along  which  the  superintendent  walked  up  to  the 
front,  where  he  stationed  himself  in  the  middle. 


XXXIX. 

The  divine  service  began. 

The  divine  service  consisted  in  this:  the  priest,  having 
donned  a  peculiar,  strange,  and  very  inconvenient  cloth 
garment,  cut  small  pieces  of  bread,  which  he  placed  in  a 
vessel,  and  then  into  a  bowl  of  wine,  all  the  while  pro- 
nouncing various  names  and  prayers.  In  the  meantime 
the  sexton,  without  interruption,  first  read  and  then  sang, 
in  rotation  with  the  choir  of  the  prisoners,  all  kinds  of 
Church-Slavic  songs,  which  were  unintelligible  in  them- 
selves, but  could  be  grasped  even  less  on  account  of  the 
rapidity  with  which  they  were  read  and  sung.  The  con- 
tents of  the  prayers  consisted  mainly  in  wishing  prosperity 
to  the  Emperor  and  his  family.  The  prayers  which 
referred  to  this  were  repeated  several  times,  in  conjunction 
with  other  prayers,  or  alone,  while  kneeling. 

In  addition,  the  sexton  read  several  verses  from  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles  in  such  a  strange  and  tense  voice 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  comprehend  a  thing;  then  the 
priest  read  very  distinctly  the  passage  from  the  Gospel 
of  St.  Mark,  where  it  says  how  Christ,  upon  being  raised 
from  the  dead,  and  before  flying  to  heaven  in  order  to  be 
seated  on  the  right  hand  of  His  Father,  appeared  first 
to  Mary  Magdalene,  out  of  whom  he  had  cast  seven 
devils,  and  then  to  his  eleven  disciples;  and  how  he 
enjoined  them  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  all  creatures,  pro- 
claiming at  the  same  time  that  he  who  would  not  believe 
should  be  damned,  but  that  he  who  would  believe  and 
would  be  baptized  should  be  saved,  and,  besides,  should 
cast  out  devils,  heal  the  sick  by  the  laying  on  of  hands, 

197 


198  RESURRECTION 

speak  with  new  tongues,  take  up  serpents,  and  not  die, 
but  remain  alive,  if  they  should  drink  deadly  things. 

The  essence  of  the  divine  service  consisted  in  the 
supposition  that  the  pieces  cut  up  by  the  priest  and 
placed  by  him  in  the  wine,  with  certain  manipulations 
and  prayers,  were  changed  into  the  body  and  blood  of 
God.  These  manipulations  consisted  in  the  priest's  evenly 
raising  his  hands,  although  the  cloth  bag,  which  he  had 
on,  very  much  interfered  with  this  motion,  then  holding 
them  in  this  attitude,  kneeling  down,  and  kissing  the 
table  and  that  which  was  on  the  table.  But  the  chief 
action  was  when  the  priest  picked  up  a  napkin  with  both 
his  hands  and  evenly  and  gently  swayed  it  over  the  dish 
and  golden  bowl.  The  supposition  was  that  simulta- 
neously with  this  the  bread  and  wine  were  changed  into 
the  body  and  blood;  consequently  this  part  of  the  divine 
service  was  surrounded  with  special  solemnity. 

"  Praise  the  most  holy,  most  pure,  and  most  blessed 
Mother  of  God,"  thereupon  loudly  proclaimed  the  priest 
behind  the  partition,  and  the  choir  sang  out  solemnly 
that  it  was  very  good  to  glorify  Her  who  had  borae 
Christ  without  impairing  Her  virginity,  —  the  Virgin 
Mary,  who,  on  that  account,  deserves  greater  honour  than 
all  the  cherubim,  and  greater  glory  than  all  the  seraphim. 
After  that  the  transformation  was  thought  to  be  complete, 
and  the  priest,  taking  off  the  napkin  from  the  dish,  cut 
the  middle  piece  into  four  parts,  and  placed  it  first  in  the 
wine  and  then  in  his  mouth.  The  idea  was  that  he  had 
eaten  a  piece  of  God's  body  and  had  drunk  a  swallow  of 
His  blood.  After  that  the  priest  drew  aside  the  curtain, 
opened  the  middle  doors,  and,  taking  the  gilt  bowl  into 
his  hands,  went  with  it  through  the  middle  door  and 
invited  those  who  wished  also  to  partake  of  the  body 
and  blood  of  God,  which  was  contained  in  the  bowl. 

There  were  several  children  who  wished  to  do  so. 

First  asldng  the  children  their  names,  the  priest  care- 


RESURKECTION  199 

fully  drew  oat  the  bread  from  the  bowl  with  a  small 
spoon,  then  stuck  deep  down  the  mouth  of  each  child  a 
piece  of  wine-sopped  bread;  after  which  the  sexton  wiped 
the  children's  mouths  and  in  a  merry  voice  sang  a  song 
about  the  children's  eating  God's  body  and  drinking  His 
blood.  Then  the  priest  carried  the  bowl  behind  the 
partition,  and,  drinking  all  the  blood  left  in  the  bowl  and 
eating  all  the  pieces  of  God's  body,  carefully  hcking  his 
moustache,  and  drying  his  mouth  and  the  bowl,  with 
brisk  steps  marched  out  from  beliind  the  partition,  in  the 
happiest  frame  of  mind  and  creaking  with  the  thin  heels 
of  his  calfskin  boots. 

This  ended  the  main  part  of  the  Cliristian  service. 
But  the  priest,  wishing  to  console  the  unfortunate  prison- 
ers, added  a  special  service  to  what  had  preceded.  This 
special  service  consisted  in  the  priest's  taking  up  a  position 
before  the  black-faced  and  black-handed,  brass  and  gilt 
supposed  representation  of  that  very  God  whom  he  had 
been  eating,  a  representation  illuminated  by  a  dozen  or  so 
of  wax  tapers,  and  beginning  in  a  strange  and  false  voice 
to  chant  the  following  words:  "  Sweetest  Jesus,  glory  of 
the  apostles,  Jesus,  the  mart}Ts'  praise,  almighty  ruler, 
save  me,  Jesus  my  Saviour,  Jesus  mine,  most  beautiful, 
me  taking  refuge  in  Thee,  Saviour  Jesus,  have  mercy  on 
me,  on  those  who  have  borne  Thee  with  prayers,  on  all, 
0  Jesus,  on  Thy  saints,  and  on  all  Thy  prophets,  my 
Saviour  Jesus,  and  give  us  the  joys  of  heaven,  Jesus,  lover 
of  men!  " 

Thereupon  he  stopped,  drew  his  breath,  crossed  himself, 
and  made  a  low  obeisance,  and  all  did  the  same.  Obei- 
sances were  made  by  the  superintendent,  the  wardens, 
the  prisoners,  and  in  the  balcony  the  chains  clanked  very 
frequently.  "  Creator  of  the  angels  and  Lord  of  hosts," 
he  continued,  "  Jesus  most  marvellous,  the  angels'  wonder, 
Jesus  most  strong,  the  ancestors'  redemption,  Jesus  most 
sweet,  the  patriarchs'  majesty,  Jesus  most  glorious,  the 


200  RESURRECTION 

kings'  support,  Jesus  most  blessed,  the  prophets'  fulfil- 
ment, Jesus  most  wonderful,  the  martyrs'  strength,  Jesus 
most  gentle,  the  monks'  joy,  Jesus  most  merciful,  the 
presbyters'  sweetness,  Jesus  most  pitiful,  the  fasters' 
restraint,  Jesus  most  suave,  the  dehght  of  the  sainted, 
Jesus  most  pure,  the  virgins'  chastity,  Jesus  from  eternity, 
the  sinners'  salvation,  Jesus,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  on 
me,"  he  finally  reached  a  stop,  repeating  the  word  Jesus 
in  an  ever  shriller  voice;  he  held  his  silk-lined  vestment 
with  his  hand,  and,  letting  himself  down  on  one  knee, 
bowed  to  the  ground,  whereupon  the  choir  sang  the  last 
words,  "  Jesus,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  on  me,"  and  the 
prisoners  fell  down  and  rose  again,  tossing  the  hair  that 
was  left  on  the  unshaven  half,  and  clattering  with  the 
fetters  which  chafed  their  lean  legs. 

Thus  it  lasted  for  a  long  time.  First  came  the  praises, 
which  ended  with  the  words,  "  Have  mercy  on  me!  "  and 
then  came  new  praises,  which  ended  with  the  word  "  Hal- 
lelujah." And  the  prisoners  crossed  themselves  and  bowed 
at  every  stop;  then  they  began  to  bow  only  every  second 
time  and  even  less,  and  all  were  happy  when  the  praises 
were  ended,  and  the  priest,  heaving  a  sigh  of  relief,  closed 
his  little  book  and  went  back  of  the  partition.  There  was 
but  one  final  action  left:  the  priest  took  a  gilt  cross  with 
enamelled  medalhons  at  its  ends,  which  was  lying  on  the 
large  table,  and  walked  with  it  into  the  middle  of  the 
church.  First  the  superintendent  came  up  and  kissed 
the  cross,  then  the  wardens,  then,  pressing  against  each 
other  and  cursing  in  whispers,  the  prisoners  came  up  to 
it.  The  priest,  talking  all  the  while  with  the  superintend- 
ent, was  sticking  the  cross  and  his  hand  into  the  mouths, 
and  sometimes  even  into  the  noses,  of  the  prisoners  who 
were  coming  up,  while  the  prisoners  were  anxious  to  kiss 
both  the  cross  and  the  priest's  hand.  Thus  ended  the 
Christian  divine  service,  which  was  held  for  the  consolation 
and  edification  of  the  erring  fellow  men. 


XL. 

It  did  not  occur  to  one  of  those  present,  beginning 
with  the  priest  and  the  superintendent  and  ending  with 
Maslova,  that  the  same  Jesus,  whose  name  the  priest 
had  repeated  an  endless  number  of  times  in  a  shrill 
voice,  praising  Him  with  all  kinds  of  outlandish  words, 
had  forbidden  all  that  which  was  done  there;  that  He 
had  forbidden  not  only  such  a  meaningless  wordiness  and 
blasphemous  mystification  of  the  priestly  teachers  over  the 
bread  and  wine,  but  that  He  had  also  in  a  most  emphatic 
manner  forbidden  one  class  of  people  to  call  another  their 
teachers;  that  He  had  forbidden  prayers  in  temples,  and 
had  commanded  each  to  pray  in  solitude;  that  He  had 
forbidden  the  temples  themselves,  saying  that  He  came  to 
destroy  them,  and  that  one  should  pray  not  in  temples, 
but  in  the  spirit  and  in  truth;  and,  above  everything  else, 
that  He  had  forbidden  not  only  judging  people  and  holding 
them  under  restraint,  torturing,  disgracing,  punishing 
them,  as  was  done  here,  but  even  doing  any  violence  to 
people,  saying  that  He  came  to  set  the  captives  at  liberty. 

It  never  occurred  to  any  one  present  that  that  which 

was   going   on   there   was   the   greatest   blasphemy   and 

mockery  upon  that  very  Christ  in  the  name  of  whom  all 

this  was  done.    It  did  not  occur  to  any  one  that  the  gilt 

cross,  with  the  enamelled  medallions  at  the  ends,  which 

the  priest  brought  out  and  gave  the  people  to  kiss,  was 

nothing  else  but  the  representation  of  the  gibbet  on  which 

Christ  had  been  hung  for  prohibiting  those  very  things 

which  were  done  here  in  His  name.     It  did  not  occur  to 

any  one  that  the  priests,  who  imagined  that  in  the  form 

201 


202  RESUERECTION 

of  the  bread  and  wine  they  were  eating  the  body  of 
Christ  and  drinking  His  blood,  actually  were  eating  His 
body  and  drinking  His  blood,  but  not  in  the  pieces  of 
bread  and  in  the  wine,  but  by  misleading  those  "  little 
ones  "  with  whom  Christ  has  identified  Himself,  and  by 
depriving  them  of  their  greatest  good,  and  subjecting 
them  to  the  severest  torments,  by  concealing  from  them 
the  very  Gospel  of  salvation  which  He  had  brought 
to  them. 

The  priest  did  with  the  calmest  conscience  all  that  he 
did,  because  he  had  been  brought  up  from  childhood  to 
believe  that  this  was  the  one  true  faith  which  had  been 
believed  in  by  all  the  holy  men  of  former  days,  and  now 
was  believed  in  by  the  spiritual  and  temporal  authorities. 
He  did  not  believe  that  the  bread  was  changed  into  the 
body,  that  it  was  good  for  the  soul  to  pronounce  many 
words,  or  that  he  had  really  devoured  a  piece  of  God,  — 
it  is  impossible  to  believe  in  such  things,  —  but  he  believed 
in  the  necessity  of  believing  in  this  belief.  The  main  thing 
that  confirmed  him  in  his  faith  was  the  fact  that  for  exer- 
cising all  the  functions  of  his  faith  he  had  for  eighteen 
years  been  receiving  an  income,  with  which  he  supported 
his  family,  kept  his  son  at  a  gymnasium,  and  his  daughter 
in  a  religious  school. 

The  sexton  believed  even  more  firmly  than  the  priest, 
because  he  had  entirely  forgotten  the  essence  of  the 
dogmas  of  this  faith,  and  only  knew  that  for  the  sacra- 
mental water,  for  the  mass  for  the  dead,  for  the  Hours, 
for  a  simple  supplication,  and  for  a  supplication  with 
songs,  —  for  everything  there  was  a  stated  price,  which 
good  Christians  gladly  paid;  and  therefore  he  called  out 
his  "  Have  mercy,  have  mercy,"  and  sang  and  read  the 
established  prayers  with  the  same  calm  confidence  in  its 
necessity  with  which  people  sell  wood,  flour,  and  potatoes. 

The  chief  of  the  prison  and  the  wardens,  who  had  never 
known  and  had  never  tried  to  find  out  what  the  dogmas 


RESURKECTION  203 

of  the  faith  consisted  in,  and  what  all  this  meant  which 
was  going  on  in  the  church,  beheved  that  one  must  be- 
lieve in  this  faith  because  the  higher  authorities  and  the 
Tsar  himself  believed  in  it.  Besides,  they  dimly  felt, 
though  they  would  not  have  been  able  to  explain  why, 
that  this  faith  justified  their  cruel  duties.  If  it  were  not 
for  tliis  faith,  it  not  only  would  have  been  harder  for  them, 
but  even  impossible  to  employ  all  their  powers  in  order 
to  torment  people,  as  they  were  now  doing  with  an  entirely 
clear  conscience.  The  superintendent  was  such  a  good- 
hearted  man  that  he  would  never  have  been  able  to  live 
that  way  if  he  had  not  found  a  support  in  his  faith.  It 
was  for  this  reason  that  he  stood  motionless  and  straight, 
zealously  made  his  obeisances  and  the  signs  of  the  cross, 
and  tried  to  feel  contrite  as  they  sang  "  The  Cherubim;  " 
and  as  they  began  to  give  the  communion  to  the  children, 
he  stepped  forward,  and  with  his  own  hands  lifted  a  boy 
who  was  receiving  the  communion,  and  held  him  up  that 
way. 

The  majority  of  the  prisoners,  —  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  who  saw  through  the  deception  practised  on  the 
people  of  this  faith,  and  who  in  their  hearts  laughed  at  it, 
• —  the  majority  beheved  that  in  these  gilt  images,  candles, 
bowls,  vestments,  crosses,  and  repetitions  of  incompre- 
hensible words,  "  Jesus  most  sweet,"  "  Have  mercy,"  lay  a 
mysterious  power,  by  means  of  which  one  could  obtain 
great  comforts  in  this  life  and  in  the  one  to  come.  Al- 
though the  majority  of  them  had  made  several  efforts 
to  obtain  the  comforts  of  life  by  means  of  prayers,  suppli- 
cations, and  tapers,  without  getting  them,  —  their  prayers 
had  remained  unfulfilled,  —  yet  each  of  them  was  firmly 
convinced  that  this  was  only  an  accidental  failure,  and 
that  this  institution,  approved  by  learned  men  and  by 
metropolitans,  was  important  and  necessary  for  the  life 
to  come,  if  not  for  this. 

Maslova  believed  the  same  way.     Like  the  rest,  she 


204  RESURRECTION 

experienced  during  the  divine  service  a  mixed  feeling  of 
awe  and  tedium.  She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
throng  before  the  bar,  and  could  not  see  any  one  but  her 
companions;  when  the  communicants  moved  forward,  she 
advanced  with  Fedosya  and  saw  the  superintendent,  and 
behind  the  superintendent  and  between  the  wardens  she 
spied  a  peasant  with  a  white  beard  and  blond  hair,  — 
Fedosya's  husband,  —  who  was  looking  at  his  wife  with 
motionless  eyes.  All  during  the  singing  Maslova  was 
busy  watching  him  and  whispering  to  Fedosya;  she 
crossed  herself  and  made  the  obeisances  only  when  the 
rest  did  so. 


XLI. 

Nekhlyudov  left  the  house  early.  A  peasant  was  still 
driving  in  a  side  street,  and  crying  in  a  strange  voice: 

"  Milk,  milk,  milk!  " 

The  day  before  there  had  fallen  the  first  warm  spring 
rain.  Wherever  there  was  no  pavement  the  grass  had 
suddenly  sprouted,  the  birches  in  the  gardens  were  cov- 
ered with  a  green  down,  and  the  bird-cherries  and  poplars 
were  spreading  out  their  long,  fragrant  leaves;  and  in  the 
houses  and  shops  the  doul^le  windows  were  being  removed 
and  cleaned.  In  the  second-hand  market,  past  which 
Nekhlyudov  had  to  ride,  a  dense  throng  of  people  was 
swarming  near  the  booths,  which  were  built  in  a  row,  and 
tattered  people  were  moving  about  with  boots  under  their 
arms  and  smoothly  ironed  pantaloons  and  waistcoats 
thrown  over  their  shoulders. 

Near  the  inns  there  were  crowds  of  people  who  were 
now  free  from  their  factory  work:  men  in  clean  sleeve- 
less coats  and  shining  boots,  and  women  in  brightly 
coloured  silk  kerchiefs  over  their  heads  and  in  overcoats 
with  huge  glass  beads.  Policemen,  with  the  yellow  cords 
of  their  pistols,  stood  on  their  beats,  watching  for  some 
disorder  to  dispel  the  ennui  which  was  oppressing  them. 
Along  the  paths  of  the  boulevard  and  over  the  fresh 
green  sod  children  and  dogs  were  romping,  while  the  gay 
nurses  were  talking  to  each  other,  sitting  on  the  benches. 

In  the  streets,  they  were  still  cool  and  damp  on  the 
left  hand,  in  the  shade,  but  dry  in  the  middle,  the  heavy 
freight  wagons  constantly  rumbled  over  the  pavement, 
and  hght  vehicles  clattered,  and  tramways  tinkled.     On 


206  RESURRECTION 

all  sides  the  air  was  shaken  by  the  various  sounds  and 
the  dins  of  the  bells  calling  the  people  to  attend  services 
similar  to  the  one  that  was  taking  place  in  their  prison. 
The  dressed-up  people  were  all  going  to  their  parish 
churches. 

The  cabman  took  Nekhlyudov  not  to  the  jail  itself,  but 
to  the  turn  that  led  to  it. 

A  number  of  men  and  women,  mostly  with  bundles, 
were  standing  there,  at  the  turn,  about  one  hundred  paces 
from  the  prison.  On  the  right  were  low  wooden  build- 
ings, and  on  the  left  a  two-story  house,  with  some  kind 
of  a  sign.  The  immense  stone  structure  of  the  jail  was 
ahead,  but  the  visitors  were  not  admitted  there.  A 
sentry  with  his  gun  was  walking  up  and  down,  calling 
out  angrily  at  those  who  tried  to  pass  beyond  him. 

At  the  gate  of  the  wooden  buildings,  on  the  right-hand 
side,  opposite  the  sentry,  a  warden,  in  a  uniform  with 
galloons,  was  sitting  on  a  bench,  with  a  note-book  in  his 
hand.  Nekhlyudov  also  went  up  to  him  and  gave  the 
name  of  Katerina  Maslova.  The  warden  with  the  gal- 
loons wrote  down  the  name. 

"  Why  don't  they  admit  yet?  "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  They  are  holding  divine  service  now.  As  soon  as  it 
is  over,  you  will  be  admitted." 

Nekhlj'udov  went  up  to  the  throng  of  the  persons 
waiting.  A  man  in  a  tattered  garment  and  crushed  cap, 
with  torn  shoes  on  his  bare  feet,  and  with  red  stripes  all 
over  his  face,  pushed  himself  forward  and  started  toward 
the  jail. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  the  soldier  with  the  gun 
shouted  to  him. 

"  Don't  yell  so!  "  answered  the  ragged  fellow,  not  in 
the  least  intimidated  by  the  sentry's  call.  He  went  back. 
"  If  you  won't  let  me,  I  can  wait.  But  don't  yell  as 
though  you  were  a  general!  " 

There  was  an  approving  laugh  in  the  crowd.     The  vis- 


RESURRECTION  207 

itors  were  mostly  poorly  clad  people,  some  of  them  simply 
in  tatters,  but  there  were  also,  to  all  appearances,  decent 
people,  both  men  and  women.  Next  to  Nekhlyiidov 
stood  a  well-dressed,  clean-shaven,  plump,  ruddy  man, 
with  a  bundle,  apparent!}^  of  underwear,  in  his  hand. 
Nekhlyudov  asked  him  whether  he  was  there  for  the  first 
time.  The  man  with  the  Ijundle  answered  that  he  came 
every  Sunday,  and  they  started  a  conversation.  He  was 
a  porter  in  a  bank;  he  came  to  see  his  brother,  who  was 
to  be  tried  for  forgery.  The  good-natured  man  told 
Nekhlyudov  his  whole  history,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
asking  him  for  his,  when  their  attention  was  distracted 
by  a  student  and  a  veiled  lady,  in  a  light  rubber-tired 
vehicle,  drawn  by  a  large,  thoroughbred  black  horse. 
The  student  was  carrj'ing  a  large  bundle  in  his  hands. 
He  went  up  to  Nekhlyudov  and  asked  liim  whether  it 
was  permitted  to  distribute  alms,  —  bread-rolls  which  he 
had  brought  with  him,  —  and  how  he  was  to  do  it.  "I 
am  doing  it  at  the  request  of  my  fiancee.  This  is  my 
fiancee.  Her  parents  advised  us  to  take  it  down  to  the 
convicts." 

"  I  am  here  for  the  first  time,  and  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  think  you  ought  to  ask  that  man,"  said  Nekhlyudov, 
pointing  to  the  warden  with  the  galloons,  who  was  sit- 
ting with  his  note-book  on  the  right. 

Just  as  Nekhlyudov  was  conversing  with  the  student, 
the  heavy  iron  door,  with  a  small  window  in  the  middle, 
was  opened,  and  there  emerged  from  it  a  uniformed  offi- 
cer with  a  warden,  and  the  warden  with  the  note-book 
announced  that  the  visitors  would  now  be  admitted. 
The  sentry  stepped  aside,  and  all  the  visitors,  as  though 
fearing  to  be  late,  started  with  rapid  steps  toward  the 
door;  some  of  them  even  rushed  forward  on  a  run.  At 
the  door  stood  a  warden,  who  kept  counting  the  visitors 
as  they  passed  him,  sa3ang  aloud,  "  Sixteen,  seventeen," 
and  so  on.    Another  warden,  inside  the  building,  touched 


208  RESURRECTION 

each  with  his  hand  and  counted  them  as  they  passed 
through  the  next  door,  in  order  that  upon  leaving  the 
number  should  tally,  and  no  visitor  be  left  in  the  prison, 
and  no  person  confined  be  allowed  to  escape.  This 
teller  slapped  Nekhlyudov's  shoulder,  without  looking  to 
see  who  it  was  that  passed  by,  and  this  touch  of  the 
warden's  hand  at  first  offended  Nekhlyudov,  but  he 
recalled  at  once  what  had  brought  him  here,  and  he  felt 
ashamed  of  his  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  and  affront. 

The  first  apartment  they  reached  beyond  the  door  was 
a  large  room  with  a  vaulted  ceiling  and  iron  gratings  in 
tiny  windows.  In  this  room,  called  the  assembly-room, 
Nekhlyudov  quite  unexpectedly  saw  a  large  representation 
of  the  crucifixion  in  a  niche. 

"  What  is  this  for?  "  he  thought,  involuntarily  connect- 
ing in  his  imagination  the  representation  of  Christ  with 
liberated  and  not  with  confined  people. 

Nekhlyudov  walked  slowly,  letting  the  hurrying  visitors 
pass  by  him,  experiencing  mixed  feeUngs  of  terror  before 
the  evil-doers  who  were  locked  up  here,  of  compassion  for 
those  innocent  people  who,  like  the  boy  of  yesterday  and 
hke  Katyusha,  must  be  confined  in  it,  and  of  timidity 
and  contrition  before  the  meeting  which  awaited  him. 
Upon  leaving  this  first  room,  the  warden  at  the  other 
end  was  saying  something;  but  Nekhlyudov  was  lost  in 
thought  and  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  what  he  was 
saying;  he  continued  to  go  in  the  direction  where  most 
visitors  were  going,  that  is,  to  the  men's  department,  and 
not  to  the  women's,  whither  he  was  bound. 

He  allowed  those  who  were  in  a  hurry  to  walk  ahead 
of  him,  and  was  the  last  to  enter  the  hall  which  was  used 
as  the  visiting-room.  The  first  thing  that  struck  him, 
when,  upon  opening  the  door,  he  entered  the  hall,  was 
the  deafening  roar  of  hundreds  of  voices  merging  into 
one.  Only  when  he  came  nearer  to  the  people  who,  like 
flies  upon  sugar,  were  clinging  to  the  screen  that  divided 


RESURRECTION  209 

the  room  into  two  parts,  he  understood  what  the  matter 
was.  The  room,  with  the  windows  in  the  back,  was 
divided  into  two,  not  by  one,  but  by  two  wire  screens 
that  ran  from  the  ceiling  down  to  the  floor.  Between 
the  screens  walked  the  wardens.  Beyond  the  screens 
were  the  prisoners,  and  on  this  side,  the  visitors.  Between 
the  two  parties  were  the  two  screens,  and  about  eight 
feet  of  space,  so  that  it  was  not  only  impossible  to  trans- 
mit any  information,  but  even  to  recognize  a  face,  espe- 
cially if  one  were  near-sighted.  It  was  even  difiicult  to 
speak,  for  one  had  to  cry  at  the  top  of  one's  voice  in 
order  to  be  heard.  On  both  sides  the  faces  were  closely 
pressed  against  the  screens :  here  were  wives,  husbands, 
fathers,  mothers,  children,  trying  to  see  each  other  and  to 
say  what  was  necessary.  But  as  each  tried  to  speak 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  heard  by  his  interlocutor,  and  the 
neighbours  were  trying  to  do  the  same,  their  voices  inter- 
fered, and  they  had  to  shout  so  much  the  louder.  It  was 
this  that  caused  the  roar,  interrupted  by  shouts,  which 
had  so  struck  Nekhlyiidov  as  he  entered  the  room. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  possibility  of  making  out 
what  was  said.  It  was  only  possible  by  their  faces  to 
guess  what  they  were  talking  about,  and  what  their  rela- 
tions to  each  other  were.  Next  to  Nekhlyudov  was  an  old 
woman  in  a  small  shawl,  who,  pressing  against  the  screen, 
with  quivering  chin  cried  something  to  a  pale  young  man 
with  half  of  his  hair  shaven  off.  The  prisoner,  raising 
his  eyebrows  and  frowning,  listened  attentively  to  what 
she  was  saying.  Next  to  the  old  woman  was  a  young 
man  in  a  sleeveless  coat,  who,  with  shaking  head,  was 
listening  to  what  a  prisoner,  with  an  agonized  face  and 
grayish  beard,  who  resembled  him,  was  saying.  Farther 
away  stood  a  ragged  fellow,  who  was  moving  his  hands 
as  he  spoke,  and  laughing.  Next  to  him  a  woman,  in  a 
good  woollen  kerchief,  with  a  babe  in  her  arms,  was  sit- 
ting on  the  floor,  and  weeping,  evidently  for  the  first  time 


210  RESURRECTION 

seeing  that  gray-haired  man,  who  was  on  the  other  side, 
in  a  prison  blouse,  and  with  a  shaven  head  and  in  fetters. 
Beyond  this  woman  stood  the  porter,  with  whom  Nekh- 
lyildov  had  spoken ;  he  was  shouting  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  to  a  bald-headed  prisoner,  with  sparkling  eyes,  on 
the  other  side. 

When  Neklyiidov  understood  that  he  would  have  to 
speak  under  these  conditions,  there  arose  within  him 
a  feeling  of  indignation  against  the  people  who  could 
have  arranged  and  maintained  such  a  thing.  He  won- 
dered how  it  was  that  such  a  terrible  state  of  affairs,  such 
a  contempt  for  all  human  feelings  had  not  offended  any- 
body. The  soldiers,  the  superintendent,  the  visitors,  and 
the  prisoners  acted  as  though  they  admitted  that  it  could 
not  be  otherwise. 

Nekhlyudov  remained  about  five  minutes  in  that  room, 
experiencing  a  terrible  feeling  of  melancholy,  of  power- 
lessness,  and  of  being  out  with  the  whole  world.  A  moral 
sensation  of  nausea,  resembling  seasickness,  took  posses- 
sion of  him. 


XLII. 

"  Still  I  must  do  that  for  which  I  have  come,"  he  said, 
urging  himself  on.  "  What  must  I  do  now  ? "  He  began 
to  look  for  somebody  in  authority,  and,  upon  noticing 
a  short,  lean  man  with  a  moustache,  in  officer's  stripes, 
who  was  walking  back  of  the  crowd,  he  turned  to  him. 

"  Can  you  not,  dear  sir,  tell  me,"  he  said,  with  exceed- 
ingly strained  civility,  "  where  the  women  are  kept,  and 
where  one  may  talk  to  them  ? " 

"  Do  you  want  the  women's  department  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  should  like  to  see  one  of  the  prisoners," 
Nekhlyudov  replied,  with  the  same  strained  civility. 

"  You  ought  to  have  said  so  when  you  were  in  the 
assembly-room.     Whom  do  you  want  to  see  ? " 

"  I  want  to  see  Katerina  Maslova." 

"  Is  she  a  political  prisoner  ?  "  asked  the  assistant  super- 
intendent. 

"  No,  she  is  simply  —  " 

"  Has  she  been  sentenced  ?  " 

"  Yes,  two  days  ago  she  was  sentenced,"  humbly  replied 
Nekhlyudov,  fearing  lest  he  spoil  the  disposition  of  the 
superintendent,  who  apparently  had  taken  interest  in 
him. 

"  If  you  wish  to  go  to  the  women's  department,  please, 
this  way,"  said  the  superintendent,  having  manifestly 
concluded  from  Nekhlyudov's  appearance  that  he  deserved 
consideration.  "  Sidorov,"  he  addressed  a  mustachioed 
under-officer  with  medals,  "  take  this  gentleman  to  the 
women's  department." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

211 


212  RESURRECTION 

Just  then  heartrending  sobs  were  heard  at  the  screen. 

Everything  seemed  strange  to  Nekhlyiidov,  but  strangest 
of  all  was  it  that  he  should  be  thankful  and  under  obliga- 
tions to  the  superintendent  and  chief  warden,  to  people 
who  were  doing  all  the  cruel  things  which  were  com- 
mitted in  that  house. 

The  warden  led  Nekhlyvidov  out  of  the  men's  visiting- 
room  into  the  corridor,  and  through  the  opposite  door 
took  him  into  the  women's  visitors'  hall. 

This  room,  like  that  of  the  men,  was  divided  into  three 
parts  by  the  two  screens,  but  it  was  considerably  smaller, 
and  there  were  fewer  visitors  and  prisoners  in  it ;  the 
noise  and  din  was  the  same  as  in  the  male  department. 
The  officer  here  also  walked  around  between  the  screens. 
The  officer  was  the  matron,  in  a  uniform  witli  galloons  on 
her  sleeves  and  with  blue  binding,  and  a  similar  belt. 
Just  as  in  the  men's  room,  the  faces  on  both  sides  clung 
closely  to  tlie  screens :  on  this  side,  city  people  in  all 
kinds  of  attires,  and  on  the  other,  the  prisoners,  —  some 
in  white,  others  in  their  own  garments.  The  whole  screen 
was  occupied  by  people.  Some  rose  on  tiptoe,  in  order 
to  be  heard  above  the  heads  of  the  others ;  others  sat  on 
the  floor,  conversing. 

Most  noticeable  of  all  the  prisoners,  both  by  her  striking 
voice  and  appearance,  was  a  tattered,  haggard  gipsy,  with 
the  kerchief  falling  down  from  her  curly  hair,  who  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  on  the  other  side  of 
the  screen,  near  a  post,  and  with  rapid  gestures  shouting 
to  a  gipsy  in  a  blue  coat  with  a  tight,  low  belt.  Next  to 
the  gipsy,  a  soldier  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  and  talk- 
ing to  a  prisoner ;  then  stood,  clinging  to  the  screen, 
a  young  peasant  with  a  light-coloured  beard,  in  bast  shoes, 
with  flushed  face,  evidently  with  difficulty  restraining  his 
tears.  He  was  talking  to  a  sweet-faced  blond  prisoner, 
who  was  gazing  at  him  with  her  bright,  blue  eyes.  This 
was    Fedosya    and    her  husband.      Near    them    stood    a 


RESURRECTION  213 

tattered  fellow,  who  was  talking  to  a  slatternly,  broad- 
faced  woman ;  then  two  women,  a  man,  again  a  woman, 
—  and  opposite  each  a  prisoner.  Maslova  was  not 
among  them.  But  back  of  the  prisoners,  on  the  other 
side,  stood  another  woman,  and  Nekhlyudov  at  once  knew 
that  it  was  she,  and  he  felt  his  heart  beating  more  strongly 
and  his  breath  stopping.  The  decisive  minute  was  ap- 
proacliing.  He  went  up  to  the  screen,  and  recognized  her. 
She  was  standing  back  of  blue-eyed  Fedosya,  and,  smiling, 
was  listening  to  what  she  was  saying.  She  was  not  in 
her  cloak,  as  two  days  ago,  but  in  a  white  bodice,  tightly 
girded  with  a  belt,  and  with  high  swelling  bosom.  From 
under  the  kerchief,  just  as  in  the  court-room,  peeped  her 
flowing  black  hair. 

"  It  will  be  decided  at  once,"  he  thought.  "  How  am  I 
to  call  her  ?     Or  will  she  come  up  herself  ? " 

But  she  did  not  come  up.  She  was  waiting  for  Klara 
and  did  not  suspect  that  this  man  came  to  see  her. 

"  Whom  do  you  want  ? "  the  matron  who  was  walking 
between  the  screens,  asked,  coming  up  to  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Kateriua  Maslova,"  Nekhlyudov  said,  wdth  difficulty. 

"  Maslova,  you  are  wanted  !  "  cried  the  matron. 

Maslova  looked  about  her,  and,  raising  her  head  and 
thrusting  forward  her  bosom,  with  her  expression  of  readi- 
ness, so  familiar  to  Nekhlyudov,  went  up  to  the  screen, 
pusliing  her  way  between  two  prisoners,  and  with  a  ques- 
tioning glance  of  surprise  gazed  at  Nekhlyudov,  without 
recognizing  him. 

But,  seeing  by  his  attire  that  he  was  a  rich  man,  she 
smiled. 

"  Do  you  want  me  ? "  she  said,  putting  her  smiling  face, 
with  its  squinting  eyes,  to  the  screen. 

"I  wanted  to  see  — "  Nekhlyudov  did  not  know 
whether  to  say  "  thee "  or  "  you,"  and  decided  to  say 
"  you."  He  was  not  speaking  louder  than  usual.  "  I 
wanted  to  see  you  —  I  —  " 


214  KESURRECTION 

"  Don't  pull  the  wool  over  my  eyes,"  cried  the  tattered 
fellow  near  him.     "  Did  you  take  it  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  dying,  —  what  more  ? "  somebody 
shouted  from  the  other  side. 

Maslova  could  not  make  out  what  Nekhlyiidov  was  say- 
ing, but  the  expression  of  his  face,  as  he  was  talking,  sud- 
denly reminded  her  of  him.  But  she  did  not  believe  her 
eyes.  Still,  the  smile  disappeared  from  her  face,  and 
her  brow  began  to  be  furrowed  in  an  agonizing  way, 

"  I  did  not  hear  what  you  said,"  she  cried,  blinking,  and 
frowning  more  than  before. 

"  I  came  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  doing  what  I  or.f^ht  to  do,  and  am  repent- 
ing of  my  sin,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov. 

The  moment  he  thought  that,  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes 
and  choked  him  ;  he  held  on  to  the  screen  with  his  fingers, 
and  grew  silent,  making  an  effort  to  keep  from  sobbing. 

"  I  say :  keep  away  from  where  you  have  no  busi- 
ness — "  somebody  cried  on  one  side. 

"  Believe  me  for  God's  sake,  for  I  tell  you  I  do  not 
know,"  cried  a  prisoner  on  the  other  side. 

Upon  noticing  his  agitation,  Maslova  recognized  him. 

"  You  have  changed,  but  I  recognize  you,"  she  cried, 
without  looking  at  him,  and  her  flushed  face  suddenly 
looked  gloomier  still. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  forgiveness  of  you,"  he  cried  in  a 
loud  voice,  without  intonations,  like  a  lesson  learned  by 
rote. 

Having  called  out  these  words,  he  felt  ashamed,  and 
looked  around.  But  immediately  it  occurred  to  him  that 
if  he  was  ashamed,  so  much  the  better,  because  he  must 
bear  shame.     And  he  continued  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Forgive  me ;  I  am  terribly  guilty  toward  you  —  "  he 
shouted  again. 

She  stood  motionless,  and  did  not  take  her  squinting 
eyes  away  from  him. 


RESURRECTION  215 

He  was  unable  to  proceed,  and  went  away  from  the 
screen,  trying  to  check  the  sobs  which  were  agitating  his 
breast. 

The  superintendent,  the  one  who  had  directed  ISTekhlyu- 
dov  to  the  women's  department,  apparently  interested  in 
him,  came  in  and,  seeing  Nekhlyildov  standing  away  from 
the  screen,  asked  him  why  he  did  not  speak  with  the  one 
he  had  asked  for.  Nekhlyildov  cleared  his  nose  and, 
straightening  himself  and  trying  to  assume  an  uncon- 
cerned look,  said  : 

"  I  can't  speak  through  the  screen,  —  I  can't  hear  a 
word." 

The  superintendent  thought  for  awhile. 

"  Well,  we  shall  have  her  brought  out  for  a  short  time." 

"  Marya  Karlovna,"  he  turned  to  the  matron.  "  Bring 
Maslova  out  here  ! " 


XLIIL 

A  MINUTE  later  Maslova  came  out  of  the  side  door. 
Walking  up  with  her  soft  tread  close  to  Nekhlyudov,  she 
stopped  and  looked  at  him  with  an  upward  glance.  Her 
black  hair,  just  as  two  days  before,  stood  out  in  curling 
ringlets  ;  her  unhealthy,  swollen,  and  white  face  was  sweet 
and  very  calm ;  only  the  sparkling,  black,  squinting  eyes 
gleamed  with  unusual  brilliancy  from  out  her  swollen 
lids. 

"  You  may  speak  here  to  her,"  said  the  superintendent, 
stepping  aside.  Kekhlyiidov  moved  up  to  the  bench 
which  stood  against  the  wall. 

Maslova  cast  a  questioning  glance  at  the  assistant  super- 
intendent, and  then,  as  though  shrugging  her  shoulders  in 
surprise,  followed  Nekhlyudov  up  to  the  bench  and  sat 
down  at  his  side,  adjusting  her  skirt. 

"  I  know  it  is  hard  for  you  to  forgive  me,"  began  Nekh- 
lyudov, but  again  stopped,  feeling  that  his  tears  impeded 
him,  "  but  if  it  is  not  possible  to  correct  the  past,  I  wish 
now  to  do  all  I  can.     Say  —  " 

"  How  did  you  find  me  ? "  she  asked,  without  replying 
to  his  question,  and  hardly  glancing  at  him  with  her 
squinting  eyes. 

"  O  Lord,  aid  me  !  Teach  me  what  to  do  ! "  Nekhlyu- 
dov kept  saying  to  himself,  looking  at  her  changed,  bad 
face. 

"Two  days  ago  I  was  a  juror,"  he  said,  "  when  you  were 
tried.     Did  you  not  recognize  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not.     I  had  no  time  to  recognize  people. 

And  I  did  not  look,  either,"  she  said. 

216 


RESURRECTION  217 

"  Was  there  not  a  child  ? "  he  asked,  and  felt  his  face 
being  flushed. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  it  died  at  once,"  she  answered  curtly 
and  angrily,  turning  her  eyes  away. 

"  Why  so  ?     Wliat  did  it  die  of  ? " 

"  I  was  ill  myself,  and  almost  died,"  she  said,  without 
raising  her  eyes. 

"  How  is  it  my  aunts  let  you  go  ? " 

"  Who  would  want  to  keep  a  chambermaid  with  a 
baby  ?  When  they  noticed  what  the  matter  was,  they 
sent  me  away.  What  is  the  use  of  mentioning  it,  —  I  do 
not  remember  anything,  —  I  have  forgotten  it.  That  is 
all  ended." 

"  No,  not  ended.  I  cannot  leave  it  so.  I  now  want  to 
expiate  my  sin." 

"There  is  nothing  to  expiate.  What  has  been,  is  a 
thing  of  the  past,"  she  said,  and  —  a  thing  he  had  not 
expected  —  she  suddenly  looked  at  him  and  gave  him  a 
disagreeable,  insinuating,  and  pitiable  smile. 

Maslova  had  not  expected  to  see  him,  especially  then 
and  there,  and  therefore  his  appearance  at  first  startled 
her  and  made  her  think  of  what  she  had  never  thought 
before.  In  the  first  moment  she  dimly  recalled  that  new 
charming  world  of  feelings  and  thoughts  which  had  been 
revealed  to  her  by  that  attractive  young  man  who  loved 
her  and  who  was  loved  by  her,  and  then  of  his  incom- 
prehensible cruelty  and  of  the  whole  series  of  humiliations 
and  suffering  which  followed  that  magic  happiness  and 
which  was  its  direct  consequence.  And  she  was  pained. 
But  not  having  the  strength  to  analyze  it  all,  she  acted 
as  she  always  did :  she  dispelled  those  recollections  and 
tried  to  shroud  them  with  the  special  mist  of  her  dis- 
solute life.  In  the  first  moment  she  connected  the  man 
who  was  sitting  at  her  side  with  the  young  man  whom 
she  had  once  loved,  but  upon  observing  that  that  caused 
her  pain,  she  stopped  connecting  him  with  that  youth. 


218  RESURRECTION 

Now  this  neatly  dressed,  well-fed  gentleman,  with  the 
perfumed  beard,  was  for  her  not  that  Nekhlyudov,  whom 
she  had  loved,  but  only  one  of  those  men  who,  when  they 
needed  it,  made  use  of  such  creatures  as  she  was,  and 
whom  a  creature  like  her  had  to  make  use  of  for  her 
greatest  advantage.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  she  gave 
him  that  insinuating  smile. 

She  was  silent,  reflecting  in  what  manner  to  use 
him. 

"  That  is  all  ended,"  she  said.  "  Now  I  am  sentenced 
to  hard  labour."  And  her  lips  quivered  as  she  pronounced 
that  terrible  word. 

"I  knew,  I  was  convinced  that  you  were  not  guilty," 
said  Nekhlyudov, 

"  Of  course  I  am  not.     Am  I  a  thief,  a  robber  ? " 

"  They  say  in  our  cell  that  everything  depends  on  a 
lawyer,"  she  continued.  "  They  say  that  a  petition  has  to 
be  handed  in.     Only  they  ask  a  lot  of  money  for  it  —  " 

"  Yes,  by  all  means,"  said  Nekhlyudov.  "  I  have 
already  talked  to  a  lawyer." 

"  You  must  not  spare  money,  and  get  a  good  one,"  she 
said. 

"  I  will  do  everything  in  my  power." 

A  silence  ensued. 

She  again  smiled  in  the  same  way. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  —  for  some  money,  if  you  can  let 
me  have  it.  Not  much  —  ten  roubles.  That  is  all  I 
want,"  she  suddenly  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Nekhlyudov  said  in  confusion,  and  taking 
out  his  pocketbook. 

She  threw  a  rapid  glance  at  the  superintendent,  who 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Don't  give  it  to  me  in  his  presence,  or  they  will  take 
it  away  from  me." 

Nekhlyudov  opened  the  pocketbook  the  moment  the 
superintendent  turned  away,  but  before  he  succeeded  in 


RESURRECTION  219 

handing  her  the  ten-rouble  bill,  the  superintendent  again 
turned  his  face  to  him.     He  crumpled  it  in  his  hand. 

"  This  is  a  dead  woman,"  Nekhlyudov  thought,  looking 
at  her  once  sweet,  now  defiled  and  swollen  face,  and  at 
the  sparkling,  evil  gleam  of  her  black,  squinting  eyes, 
which  were  watching  both  the  superintendent  and  his 
hand  with  the  crumpled  bill.  A  moment  of  hesitation 
came  over  him. 

Again  the  tempter  who  had  been  speaking  to  him  in 
the  night  spoke  up  in  Nekhlyudov's  soul,  as  ever  trying 
to  lead  him  away  from  the  question  as  to  what  he  ought 
to  do,  to  the  question  of  what  would  result  from  his 
actions,  questions  of  what  was  useful. 

"  You  won't  be  able  to  do  anything  with  this  woman," 
that  voice  said.  "  You  are  only  hanging  a  rock  around 
your  neck,  which  will  drown  you  and  will  keep  you  from 
being  useful  to  others.  Give  her  money,  all  you  have ; 
bid  her  farewell,  and  make  an  end  of  it  once  and  for 
all !  "  he  thought. 

But  just  then  he  felt  that  something  exceedingly  im- 
portant was  going  on  in  his  soul,  that  his  inner  life  was, 
as  it  were,  placed  on  a  swaying  balance,  which  by  the 
least  effort  could  be  drawn  over  in  one  or  the  other  direc- 
tion. He  made  that  effort,  and  acknowledged  that  God 
whom  he  had  felt  within  Mm  the  day  before ;  and  that 
God  raised  His  voice  in  his  soul.  He  decided  to  tell  her 
everything  at  once. 

"  Katyusha,  I  have  come  to  ask  thy  forgiveness  in 
everything,  but  thou  hast  not  answered  me  whether  thou 
hast  forgiven  me,  or  whether  thou  wilt  ever  forgive  me," 
he  said,  suddenly  passing  over  to  "  thou." 

She  was  not  hstening  to  him,  and  only  looked  at  his 
hand  and  at  the  superintendent.  The  moment  the  super- 
intendent turned  away,  she  swiftly  stretched  her  hand 
out  to  him,  grasped  the  money,  and  stuck  it  behind  her 
belt. 


220  RESURRECTION 

"  You  are  saying  strange  things,"  she  said,  smihng 
contemptuously,  as  he  thought. 

Nekhlyudov  felt  that  there  was  in  her  something 
directly  hostile  to  him,  which  kept  her  in  her  present 
attitude,  and  which  prevented  his  penetrating  into  her 
soul. 

Strange  to  say,  this  did  not  repel  him,  but  attracted 
him  to  her  with  a  greater,  a  special  and  new  force.  He 
felt  that  he  must  wake  her  spiritually,  that  this  was 
terribly  hard,  —  but  this  very  difficulty  attracted  him. 
He  now  experienced  a  feeling  toward  her  such  as  he  had 
never  before  experienced  toward  her  or  toward  anybody 
else.  There  was  nothing  personal  in  it :  he  did  not 
wish  anything  of  her  for  himself,  but  only  that  she 
should  cease  being  what  she  was,  that  she  awaken  and 
become  wliat  she  had  been  before. 

"  Katyusha,  what  makes  you  talk  that  way  ?  I  know 
you  and  remember  you  such  as  you  were  in  Panov —  " 

"  What  is  the  use  recalling  the  past  ? "  she  said, 
drily. 

"  I  recall  it  in  order  to  smooth  over  and  expiate  my 
sin,  Katyusha,"  he  began,  and  was  on  the  point  of  saying 
that  he  wanted  to  marry  her,  but  he  met  her  glance  and 
read  in  it  something  so  terrible,  and  coarse,  and  repulsive, 
that  he  could  not  finish  his  sentence. 

Just  then  the  visitors  were  beginning  to  leave.  The 
superintendent  went  up  to  ISTekhlyudov  and  told  him 
that  the  time  for  the  interview  was  up.  Maslova  arose, 
waiting  submissively  to  be  dismissed. 

"  Good-bye  !  I  have  to  tell  you  many  more  things,  but 
you  see  I  cannot  now,"  said  Nekhlyildov,  and  stretched 
out  his  hand.     "  I  shall  come  again  —  " 

"  It  seems  you  have  said  everything  —  " 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  but  did  not  press  his. 

"  No.  I  shall  try  to  see  you  again  where  I  may  have 
a  talk  with  you,  and  then  I  shall   tell    you    something 


EESURRECTION  221 

very  important,  which  must  be  told  to  you,"  said  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  Very  well,  come,  then,"  she  said,  smiling  as  she  was 
iu  the  habit  of  smiling  to  men  whom  she  wished  to 
please. 

"  You  are  nearer  to  me  than  a  sister,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Strange,"  she  repeated,  and  went  behind  the  screen, 
shaking  her  head. 


XLIV. 

At  his  first  meeting,  Nekhlyudov  expected  that  the 
moment  Katyusha  should  see  him  and  should  hear  of 
his  intention  of  serving  her  and  of  his  repentance,  she 
would  rejoice  and  be  contrite,  and  would  be  Katyusha 
again ;  to  his  terror  he  saw  that  there  was  no  Katyusha, 
but  only  a  Maslova.     This  surprised  and  horrified  him. 

He  was  particularly  surprised  to  find  that  Maslova  not 
only  was  not  ashamed  of  her  situation,  —  not  as  a  pris- 
oner, for  of  that  she  was  ashamed,  but  as  a  prostitute,  — 
but  that  she  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with  it,  and  even  to 
pride  herself  on  it.  This  could  not  have  been  otherwise. 
Every  person,  to  act,  must  consider  his  or  her  activity  to 
be  important  and  good.  Consequently,  whatever  the  posi- 
tion of  a  man  may  be,  he  cannot  help  but  form  such  a 
view  of  human  life  in  general  as  will  make  his  activity 
appear  important  and  good. 

It  is  generally  supposed  that  a  thief,  a  murderer,  a 
spy,  a  prostitute,  acknowledging  his  profession  to  be  bad 
must  be  ashamed  of  it.  But  the  very  opposite  takes 
place.  People,  who  by  fate  and  by  their  own  sins  — 
by  error  —  are  put  in  a  certain  condition,  however  irregu- 
lar it  may  be,  form  such  a  view  of  life  in  general  that 
their  position  appears  to  them  good  and  respectable.  In 
order  to  support  such  a  view,  people  instinctively  cling 
to  that  circle  in  which  the  conception  which  they  have 
formed  of  life,  and  of  their  place  in  it,  is  accepted.  We 
are  surprised  to  find  this  in  the  case  of  thieves  bragging 
of  their  agility,  prostitutes  of  their  debauch,  murderers  of 

their  cruelty.     But  we  are   surprised  only  because   the 

222    ■ 


RESURRECTION  223 

circle,  the  atmosphere  of  these  people,  is  limited,  and, 
chiefly,  because  we  live  outside  that  circle ;  but  does  not 
the  same  thing  take  place  in  the  case  of  rich  men  brag- 
ging of  their  wealth,  that  is,  of  robbery,  of  generals  brag- 
ging of  their  victories,  that  is,  of  murder,  and  of  rulers 
bragging  of  their  power,  that  is,  of  violence  ?  We  do  not 
see  in  these  people  a  corrupted  conception  of  life,  of  good 
and  evil,  in  order  to  justify  their  position,  because  the 
circle  of  people  with  such  corrupt  conceptions  is  larger, 
and  we  ourselves  belong  to  it. 

Just  such  a  view  of  life  and  of  her  position  in  the 
world  had  been  formed  by  Maslova.  She  was  a  prosti- 
tute who  was  condemned  to  enforced  labour,  and  yet  she 
had  formed  such  a  world  conception  that  she  was  able  to 
justify  herself  and  even  pride  herself  before  people  on  her 
situation. 

This  world  conception  consisted  in  the  conviction  that 
the  chief  good  of  men,  of  all  without  exception,  —  of  old 
and  young  men,  of  gymuasiasts,  generals,  uneducated  and 
educated  men,  —  lay  in  sexual  intercourse  with  attractive 
women,  and  for  this  reason  all  men,  though  they  pre- 
tended to  be  busy  with  other  affairs,  in  real:.*;y  desired 
only  this.  She  was  an  attractive  woman,  who  could 
satisfy  or  not  satisfy  their  desire,  —  consequently  she 
was  an  important  and  necessary  factor.  All  her  past  and 
present  life  had  been  a  confirmation  of  the  justice  of  this 
view. 

For  ten  years,  she  had  everywhere  seen,  wherever  she 
had  been,  beginning  with  Nekhlyudov  and  the  old  coun- 
try judge,  and  ending  with  the  wardens  of  the  prisons, 
that  all  men  needed  her ;  she  neither  saw,  nor  noticed 
the  men  who  did  not  need  her.  Consequently  the  whole 
world  presented  itself  to  her  as  a  collection  of  people 
swayed  by  passion,  who  watched  her  on  all  sides,  and 
who  with  all  means,  with  deception,  with  violence,  pur- 
chase, cunning,  tried  to  get  possession  of  her. 


224  RESUKRECTION 

Thus  Maslova  understood  life,  and,  with  such  a  com- 
prehension of  the  world,  she  was  not  only  not  the  least, 
but  even  an  important,  person.  Maslova  valued  this  con- 
ception of  life  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world ; 
nor  could  she  help  valuing  it,  because  if  she  had  changed 
this  conception  of  life  she  would  have  lost  the  impor- 
tance which  this  conception  gave  her  among  men.  And 
in  order  not  to  lose  her  significance  in  life,  she  instinc- 
tively clung  to  the  circle  of  people  who  looked  upon  life 
just  as  she  did.  When  she  noticed  that  Nekhlyiidov 
wished  to  take  her  into  another  world,  she  set  herself 
against  this,  for  she  foresaw  that  in  the  world  into  which 
he  was  enticing  her  she  would  have  to  lose  that  place  in 
life  which  gave  her  confidence  and  self-respect.  For  this 
same  reason  she  warded  off  every  recollection  of  her  first 
youth  and  of  her  first  relations  with.  Nekhlyiidov.  These 
recollections  did  not  harmonize  with  her  present  world 
conception,  and  so  they  had  been  entirely  obliterated 
from  her  memory,  or,  to  be  more  correct,  they  lay  some- 
where untouched  in  her  memory,  but  they  were  shut  up 
and  immured  as  bees  immure  the  nests  of  the  worms 
which  are  likely  to  destroy  their  whole  labour,  so  that 
there  should  be  no  getting  to  them.  Therefore,  the 
present  Nekhlyiidov  was  for  her  not  the  man  whom  she 
had  once  loved  with  a  pure  love,  but  only  a  rich  gentle- 
man who  could  and  must  be  made  use  off,  and  with 
whom  she  could  have  the  same  relations  as  with  all  men. 

"  No,  I  could  not  tell  her  the  main  thing,"  thought 
Nekhlyiidov,  walking  with  the  throng  to  the  entrance. 
"  I  have  not  told  her  that  I  want  to  marry  her.  I  have 
not  yet  told  her,  but  I  will,"  he  thought. 

The  wardens,  standing  at  the  doors,  again  counted  the 
people  twice,  as  they  passed  out,  lest  a  superfluous  person 
leave  the  prison  or  he  left  behind.  He  not  only  was  not 
offended  by  the  slap  on  his  shoulder,  but  did  not  even 
notice  it, 


XLV. 

Nekhlyudov  wanted  to  change  his  external  life :  to 
give  up  his  large  quarters,  send  away  the  servants,  and 
move  to  a  hotel.  But  Agraf^na  Petrovna  proved  to  him 
that  there  was  no  sense  in  making  any  change  in  his 
manner  of  life  before  winter ;  no  one  would  hire  his  quar- 
ters in  the  summer,  and  in  the  meantime  one  had  to  live 
and  keep  the  furniture  and  things  somewhere.  Thus, 
all  efforts  of  Nekhlyudov  to  change  his  external  life  (he 
wanted  to  arrange  things  simply,  in  student  fashion) 
came  to  naught.  Not  only  was  everything  left  as  of  old, 
but  in  the  house  began  an  intensified  activity  of  airing 
the  rooms,  of  hanging  out  and  beating  all  kinds  of  woollen 
and  fur  things,  in  which  the  janitor  and  his  assistant,  and 
the  cook,  and  even  Korn^y  himself  took  part.  First  they 
brought  out  and  hung  up  on  ropes  all  kinds  of  uniforms 
and  strange  fur  things,  which  were  never  used  by  any- 
body ;  then  they  carried  out  the  rugs  and  furniture,  and 
the  janitor  and  his  assistant,  rolling  up  their  sleeves  over 
their  muscular  arms,  began  to  beat  these  in  even  measure, 
and  an  odour  of  naphthalene  was  spread  through  all  the 
rooms. 

Walking  through  the  yard  and  looking  out  of  the 
window",  Nekhlyudov  marvelled  at  the  mass  of  all  these 
things,  and  how  most  of  them  were  unquestionably  use- 
less. The  only  use  and  purpose  of  these  things,  so 
Nekhlyudov  thought,  was  to  give  a  chance  for  physical 
exercise  to  Agrafena  Petrovna,  Korn^y,  the  janitor,  and 
his  assistant. 

"  It  is  not  worth  while  to  change  the  form  of  life  now, 

225 


226  RESUKKECTION 

while  Maslova's  case  has  not  yet  been  passed  upon," 
thuiight  Nekhlyudov.  "  Besides,  that  would  be  too  diffi- 
cult a  mattei".  Everything  will  change  of  itself,  when 
she  is  released,  or  transported,  in  which  case  I  wiU  follow 
her." 

On  the  day  appointed  by  lawyer  Fanarin,  Nekhlyudov 
drove  to  his  house.  Upon  entering  the  magnificent 
apartments  of  the  lawyer's  own  house,  with  immense 
plants  and  wonderful  curtains  in  the  windows,  and,  in 
general,  with  those  expensive  furnishings  which  testify 
to  money  earned  without  labour,  such  as  is  found  only 
with  people  who  have  suddenly  grown  rich,  Nekhlyudov 
met  in  the  waiting-room  a  number  of  clients  who,  as  in 
a  physician's  office,  were  waiting  for  their  turns,  sitting 
gloomily  around  tables  with  their  illustrated  magazines, 
which  were  to  help  them  while  away  their  time.  The 
lawyer's  assistant,  who  was  sitting  there  too,  at  a  high 
desk,  upon  recognizing  Nekhlyudov,  came  up  to  him, 
greeted  him,  and  told  him  that  he  would  at  once  announce 
him  to  his  chief.  But  he  had  barely  walked  up  to  the 
door  of  the  office,  when  it  was  opened,  and  there  could 
be  heard  the  loud,  animated  conversation  of  a  middle- 
aged,  stocky  man,  with  a  red  face  and  thick  moustache, 
in  an  entirely  new  attire,  and  of  Fanarin  himself.  On 
the  faces  of  both  was  an  expression  such  as  one  sees  in 
the  countenances  of  people  who  have  transacted  a  very 
profitable,  but  not  very  clean  business. 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,  my  friend,"  said  Fanarin,  smil- 
ing. 

"  T  should  like  to  find  my  way  into  paradise,  but  my 
sins  won't  let  me  git  there." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,  I  know." 

And  both  laughed  an  unnatural  laugh. 

"  Ah,  prince,  please  come  in,"  said  Fanarin,  upon  notic- 
ing Nekhlyudov,  and,  nodding  once  more  to  the  departing 
merchant,  he  led  Nekhlyudov  into  his  office,  which  was 


RESURRECTION  227 

furnished  in  severe  style.  "Please,  have  a  cigarette," 
said  the  lawyer,  seating  himself  opposite  Nekhlyudov  and 
repressing  a  smile  provoked  by  the  success  of  his  previous 
affair. 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  come  to  find  out  about  Maslova." 

"  Yes,  yes,  in  a  minute.  Oh,  what  rascals  these  fat- 
purses  are !  "  he  said.  "  You  have  seen  the  fellow  ?  He 
has  twelve  milhons,  —  and  yet  he  says  '  git.'  But  if  he 
can  pull  a  twenty-five-rouble  bill  out  of  you,  he  will  pull 
it  out  with  his  teeth." 

"  He  says,  '  git,'  and  you  say,  '  twenty-five-rouble 
bill,'"  Nekhlyudov  thought  in  the  meantime,  feehng  an 
uncontrollable  disgust  for  this  glib  man,  who  by  his  tone 
wished  to  show  him  that  he  was  of  the  same  camp  with 
Nekhlyudov,  but  entirely  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
clients  who  were  waiting  for  him,  and  from  all  other 
people. 

"  He  has  tired  me  out  dreadfully,  —  he  is  a  worthless 
chap.  I  wanted  to  have  a  breathing  spell,"  said  the 
lawyer,  as  though  to  justify  himself  for  not  talking  busi- 
ness. "  Well,  your  affair  —  I  have  read  it  carefully  and 
'have  not  approved  of  its  contents,'  as  Turg^nev  says; 
that  is,  he  was  a  miserable  lawyer,  —  he  has  omitted  all 
the  causes  for  annulment." 

"  So  what  is  your  decision  ? " 

"  In  a  minute.  Tell  him,"  he  turned  to  the  assistant, 
who  had  just  entered,  "  that  it  will  be  as  I  told  him.  If 
he  can,  it  is  all  right ;  if  not,  he  does  not  have  to." 

"  But  he  does  not  agree  to  it." 

"  He  does  not  have  to,"  said  the  lawyer,  and  his  gay 
and  gracious  face  suddenly  became  gloomy  and  mean. 

"  And  they  say  that  lawyers  take  money  for  nothing," 
he  said,  the  previous  suavity  overspreading  his  face.  "  I 
saved  a  bankrupt  debtor  from  an  entirely  irregular  accu- 
sation, and  now  they  all  crawl  to  me.  But  every  such 
case  means  an   immense   amount  of  labour.     As   some 


228      ,,  RESURRECTION 

author  has  said,  we  leave  a  piece  of  our  flesh  in  the  ink- 
stand. 

"Well,  as  I  said,  your  case,  or  the  case  in  which* you 
are  interested,"  he  continued,  "  has  been  miserably  con- 
ducted ;  there  are  no  good  causes  for  annulment ;  still 
we  shall  try,  and  here  is  what  I  have  written." 

He  took  a  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  writing,  and, 
rapidly  swallowing  some  formal  words  and  pronouncing 
others  with  particular  emphasis,  began  to  read :  "  To  the 
Criminal  Department  of  Cassation,  etc.,  such  and  such  a 
one,  etc.,  complaining.  By  the  decree  of  the  verdict,  etc., 
of  etc.,  a  certain  Maslova  was  declared  guilty  of  having 
deprived  Merchant  Smyelkov  of  his  life  by  means  of 
poison,  and  by  force  of  art.  1,454  of  the  Code  she  has 
been  sentenced  to,  etc.,  enforced  labour,  etc." 

He  stopped.  In  spite  of  being  accustomed  to  it,  he 
evidently  listened  with  pleasure  to  his  own  production. 
"  This  sentence  is  the  result  of  so  many  important  judi- 
cial mistakes  and  errors,"  he  continued,  with  emphasis, 
"that  it  is  subject  to  reversal.  In  the  first  place,  the 
reading  of  the  report  of  the  investigation  of  Smyelkov's 
internal  organs  was,  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  trial, 
interrupted  by  the  presiding  judge,  —  that  is  one." 

"  But  the  prosecuting  attorney  asked  for  the  reading  of 
it,"  Nekhlyiidov  said,  in  surprise. 

"  Makes  no  difference.  The  defence  might  have  had 
cause  to  ask  for  it." 

"  But  there  was  no  earthly  use  in  it." 

"  Still,  this  is  a  cause.  Further :  In  the  second  place, 
Maslova's  counsel,"  he  continued  to  read,  "  was  interrupted 
during  his  speech  by  the  presiding  judge,  just  as  he,  de- 
siring to  characterize  Maslova's  personality,  was  touching 
on  the  internal  causes  of  her  fall,  on  the  ground  that  the 
counsel's  words  were  not  relevant  to  the  case,  whereas  in 
criminal  cases,  as  has  repeatedly  been  passed  upon  by  the 
Senate,  the  elucidation  of  the  defendant's  character  and 


KESURRECTION  229 

of  his  moral  traits  in  general  are  of  prime  importance,  if 
for  nothing  else  tlian  the  correct  determination  of  the 
question  of  imputation,  —  that  is  two,"  he  said,  glancing 
at  Nekhlyudov. 

"  But  he  spoke  so  wretchedly  that  it  was  impossible  to 
understand  him,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  even  more  astonished 
than  before. 

"The  fellow  is  stupid,  and,  of  course,  could  not  say 
anything  sensible,"  Fanarin  said,  laughing,  "  but  still  it  is 
a  cause.  Well,  next :  In  the  third  place,  in  his  final 
charge,  the  presiding  judge,  contrary  to  the  categorical 
demand  of  par.  1,  art.  801  of  the  Code  of  Crim.  Jur., 
did  not  explain  to  the  jury  of  what  juridical  elements 
the  concept  of  culpability  is  composed,  and  did  not  tell 
them  that  they  had  the  right,  in  assuming  as  proven  the 
fact  that  Maslova  had  administered  the  poison  to  Smyel- 
kov,  not  to  ascribe  to  her  any  guilt  in  the  act,  if  intent 
of  murder  was  absent,  and  thus  to  find  her  guilty,  not  of 
the  criminal  intent,  but  of  the  act,  as  the  result  of  care- 
lessness, from  the  consequences  of  which,  contrary  to 
Maslova's  intent,  ensued  the  merchant's  death.  This  is 
the  main  thing." 

"  But  we  ought  to  have  understood  that  ourselves.  It 
was  our  error." 

"And,  finally,  in  the  fourth  place,"  continued  the 
lawyer,  "the  question  of  Maslova's  guilt  was  given  to 
the  jury  in  a  form  which  contained  a  palpable  contradic- 
tion. Maslova  was  accused  of  premeditated  murder  of 
Smyelkov  for  purely  selfish  purposes,  which  appeared  as 
the  only  motive  for  the  murder ;  whereas  the  jury  in 
their  answer  rejected  the  purpose  of  robbery  and  Maslova's 
participation  in  the  theft  of  the  valuables,  —  from  which 
it  is  manifest  that  it  was  their  intention  to  refute  the 
defendant's  premeditation  in  the  murder,  and  only  by 
misunderstanding,  caused  by  the  incomplete  wording  in 
the  charge  of  the  presiding  judge,  did  they  not  express 


230  EESUREECTION 

it  in  proper  form  in  their  answer,  and  therefore  such  an 
answer  of  the  jury  unconditionally  required  the  applica- 
tion of  arts.  816  and  808  of  the  Code  of  Crim.  Jur., 
that  is,  the  explanation  by  the  presiding  judge  of  the 
error  which  had  been  committed,  and  their  return  for  a 
new  consultation  in  regard  to  the  question  of  defendant's 
guilt,"  read  Fanariu. 

"  Why,  then,  did  the  presiding  judge  not  do  so  ? " 

"  I  should  myself  like  to  know  why,"  said  Fanarin, 
laughing. 

"  Then,  you  think,  the  Senate  will  rectify  the  error  ? " 

"  That  depends  upon  who  will  be  in  the  chair  at  the 
given  moment.  So  here  it  is.  Further  I  say :  Such  a 
verdict  did  not  give  the  court  any  right,"  he  continued, 
in  a  rapid  tone,  "  to  subject  Maslova  to  criminal  punish- 
ment, and  the  application  in  her  case  of  par.  3,  art.  771 
of  the  Code  of  Crim.  Jur.  forms  a  distinct  and  important 
violation  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  our  criminal 
procedure.  On  the  basis  of  the  facts  herein  described  I 
have  the  honour  of  asking,  etc.,  to  set  aside,  in  accordance 
with  arts.  909,  910,  par.  2  of  912,  and  928  of  the  Code 
of  Crim.  Jur.  etc.,  and  to  transfer  the  case  into  another 
division  of  the  same  court  for  retrial.  —  So,  you  see,  every- 
thing has  been  done  that  can  be  done.  But  I  shall  be 
frank  with  you,  —  there  is  little  probability  of  any  success. 
However,  everything  depends  on  the  composition  of  the 
Department  of  the  Senate.  If  you  have  any  influence, 
make  a  personal  appeal." 

"  I  know  some  people  there." 

"  Do  it  at  once,  for  Ihey  will  soon  leave  to  cure  their 
piles,  and  then  you  will  have  to  wait  three  months. 
In  case  of  a  failure,  there  is  still  left  an  appeal  to  his 
Majesty.  This  also  depends  on  wire-pulling.  In  that 
case  I  am  ready  to  serve  you,  that  is,  not  in  the  wire- 
pulling, but  in  composing  the  petition." 

"  1  thank  you.     And  your  fee  —  " 


RESURRECTION  231 

"  My  assistant  will  give  you  a  clean  copy  of  the  appeal, 
and  he  will  tell  you." 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  another  thing.  The  prosecuting 
attorney  has  given  me  a  permit  to  see  that  person  in 
prison ;  but  there  I  was  told  that  I  should  need  a  special 
permission  from  the  governor,  if  I  wished  to  see  her  at 
any  other  than  the  regular  time  and  place.  Is  that 
necessary  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  But  now  the  governor  is  not  here, 
and  the  vice-governor  is  performing  his  duties.  He  is 
such  an  all-around  fool  that  you  will  scarcely  get  any- 
thing out  of  him." 

"  Is  it  Maslennikov  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  I  know  him,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  rising,  in  order  to  leave. 

Just  then  there  glided  into  the  room,  with  a  swift  motion, 
a  fearfully  homely,  snub-nosed,  bony,  sallow  woman, — 
the  lawyer's  wife,  who  apparently  was  not  in  the  least 
abashed  by  her  ugliness.  She  was  clad  in  a  most  original 
manner,  —  she  was  rigged  up  in  something  velvety,  and 
silky,  and  bright  yellow,  and  green,  and  her  thin  hair 
was  all  puffed  up  ;  she  victoriously  sailed  into  the  waiting- 
room,  accompanied  by  a  lank,  smiling  man  with  an  earthen 
hue  on  his  face,  in  a  coat  with  silk  lapels,  and  a  white 
tie.     It  was  an  author,  whom  Nekhlyiidov  knew  by  sight. 

"  Anatol,"  she  proclaimed,  opening  the  door.  "  Come 
to  my  apartment.  Sem^n  Ivanovich  has  promised  to 
read  his  poem,  and  you  must  by  all  means  read  about 
Garshin." 

"Please,  prince,  —  I  know  you  and  consider  an  intro- 
duction superfluous,  —  come  to  our  literary  matinee  !  It 
will  be  very  interesting.     Anatol  reads  beautifully." 

"You  see  how  many  different  things  I  have  to  do," 
said  Anatol,  waving  his  hands,  smiling,  and  pointing  to 
his  wife,  meaning  to  say  that  it  was  impossible  to  with- 
stand such  an  enchantress. 


232  RESURRECTION 

Nekhlyiidov  thanked  the  lawyer's  wife,  with  a  sad  and 
stern  expression  and  with  the  greatest  civihty,  for  the 
honour  of  the  invitation,  but  excused  himself  for  lack  of 
time,  and  went  into  the  waiting-room. 

"  How  finical,"  the  lawyer's  wife  said  of  him,  when  he 
left. 

In  the  waiting-room,  the  assistant  handed  Nekhlyiidov 
the  prepared  petition,  and,  to  the  question  about  the  fee, 
he  said  that  Anatoli  Petrovich  had  put  it  at  one  thousand 
roubles,  adding  that  Anatoli  Petrovich  did  not  generally 
take  such  cases,  but  he  had  done  so  to  accommodate  him. 

"  Who  must  sign  the  petition  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  The  defendant  herself  may ;  but  if  her  signature  is 
difficult  to  get,  Anatoli  Petrovich  will  do  so,  after  getting 
her  power  of  attorney." 

"  I  will  go  down  myself  and  get  her  signature,"  said 
Nekhlyiidov,  happy  to  have  a  chance  of  seeing  her  before 
the  appointed  day. 


XLVL 

At  the  usual  time  the  whistles  of  the  wardens  were 
sounded  along  the  corridors ;  clanking  the  iron,  the  doors 
of  the  corridors  and  cells  were  opened  ;  there  was  a  plash- 
ing of  bare  feet  and  of  the  heels  of  the  prison  shoes ;  the 
privy-cleaners  passed  along  the  corridors,  filling  the  air 
with  a  nauseating  stench ;  the  prisoners  washed  and 
dressed  themselves,  and  came  out  into  the  corridors  for 
the  roll-call,  after  which  they  went  for  the  boiling  water 
to  make  tea  with. 

During  the  tea,  animated  conversations  were  held  in 
all  the  cells  of  the  prison  in  regard  to  the  two  prisoners 
who  on  that  day  were  to  be  flogged  with  switches.  One 
of  these  was  an  intelligent  young  man,  clerk  Vasilev,  who 
had  killed  his  sweetheart  in  a  fit  of  jealousy.  The  fellow 
prisoners  of  liis  cell  liked  him  for  his  jollity,  generosity, 
and  firmness  in  respect  to  the  authorities.  He  knew  the 
laws  and  demanded  their  execution.  For  this  the  prison 
officials  did  not  like  him.  Three  weeks  before,  a  warden 
had  struck  a  privy-cleaner  for  having  spilled  the  liquid, 
on  his  new  uniform.  Vasilev  took  the  privy-cleaner's 
part,  saying  that  there  was  no  law  which  permitted  him 
to  strike  a  prisoner.  "  I  will  show  you  a  law,"  said  the 
warden,  and  called  Vasilev  names.  Vasilev  paid  him 
back  in  the  same  coin.  The  warden  wanted  to  strike  him, 
but  Vasilev  caught  hold  of  his  hands,  holding  them  thus 
for  about  three  minutes,  when  he  turned  him  around  and 
kicked  him  out.  The  warden  entered  a  complaint,  and  the 
superintendent  ordered  VasOev  to  be  placed  in  a  career. 

The  careers  were  a  series  of  dark  store-rooms,  which 

233 


234  KESURRECTION 

were  locked  from  the  outside  by  iron  bars.  In  the  dark, 
cokl  career  there  was  neither  a  bed,  nor  table,  nor  chair, 
so  that  the  person  confined  there  had  to  sit  or  lie  on  the 
dirty  floor,  where  he  was  overrun  by  rats,  of  which  there 
were  a  large  number,  which  were  so  bold  that  it  was 
impossible  in  the  darkness  to  save  the  bread.  They  ate 
it  out  of  the  hands  of  the  prisoners,  and  even  attacked 
them,  the  moment  they  ceased  to  stir.  Vasilev  said  that 
he  would  not  go  to  the  career,  because  he  was  not  guilty 
of  anything.  He  was  taken  there  by  force.  He  offered 
resistance,  and  two  prisoners  helped  him  to  get  away 
from  the  wardens.  The  wardens  came  together,  and 
among  them  Petrov,  famous  for  his  strength.  The  pris- 
oners were  subdued  and  placed  in  the  careers.  A  report 
was  immediately  made  to  the  governor  that  something 
like  a  riot  had  taken  place.  A  reply  was  received,  in 
which  it  was  decreed  that  the  two  instigators,  Vasilev 
and  vagabond  Neponmyashchi,  should  get  thirty  blows 
with  switches. 

The  castigation  was  to  be  administered  in  the  women's 
visiting-room.  All  the  inmates  of  the  prison  had  known 
of  this  since  the  previous  evening,  and  the  impending 
castigation  formed  the  subject  of   animated  discussions. 

Korabl(5va,  Beauty,  Fedosya,  and  Maslova  were  sitting 
in  their  corner,  and  all  of  them,  red  in  their  faces  and 
agitated,  having  drunk  brandy,  which  now  was  continu- 
ally imbibed  by  Maslova,  and  to  which  she  liberally 
treated  her  companions,  were  drinking  tea  and  discussing 
the  same  matter. 

"  He  has  not  been  riotous,"  said  Korabldva  of  Vasilev, 
biting  off  tiny  pieces  of  sugar  with  all  her  sound  teeth. 
"  He  only  took  his  comrade's  part,  because  it  is  against 
the  law  now  to  strike  a  person." 

"  They  say  he  is  a  good  fellow,"  added  Fedosya,  with 
her  long  braids  uncovered,  who  was  sitting  on  a  piece  of 
wood  near  the  bench  on  which  the  teapot  was  standing. 


RESUltKECTION 


235 


"  You  ought  to  tell  him,  Mikhaylovna,"  the  flagwoman 
addressed  Maslova,  meauiug  Nekhlyudov  by  "  him." 

"  I  will  tell  him.  He  will  do  anything  for  me,"  replied 
Maslova,  smiling  and  tossing  her  head. 

"  But  it  will  be  a  while  before  he  comes,  and  they  say 
they  have  just  gone  for  them,"  said  Eedosya.  "  It  is 
terrible,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  once  saw  them  flogging  a  peasant  in  the  office  of 
the  township.  Father-in-law  had  sent  me  to  the  village 
elder^  when  I  arrived  there,  behold  —  "  and  the  flag- 
woman  began  a  long  story. 

The  flagwoman's  story  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of 
voices  and  steps  in  the  upper  corridor. 

The  women  grew  quiet  and  listened. 

"  They  have  dragged  him  away,  the  devils,"  said  Beauty. 
"  They  will  give  him  a  terrible  flogging,  for  the  wardens 
are  dreadfully  angry  at  him ;  he  gives  them  no  rest." 

Everything  quieted  down  up-stairs,  and  the  flagwoman 
ended  her  story,  how  she  had  been  frightened  in  the  town- 
ship office,  as  they  were  flogging  a  peasant  in  the  barn, 
and  how  all  her  entrails  had  felt  like  leaping  out.  Beauty 
then  told  how  Shcheglov  had  been  flogged  with  whips, 
and  how  he  had  not  uttered  a  sound.  Then  Fedosya  took 
the  tea  away,  and  KorabMva  and  the  flagwoman  began  to 
sew,  while  Maslova  sat  up  on  the  bench,  embracing  her 
knees,  and  pining  away  from  ennui.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  lying  down  to  take  a  nap,  when  the  matron 
called  her  to  the  oflice  to  see  a  visitor. 

"Do  tell  him  about  us,"  said  old  woman  Menshov  to 
her,  while  Maslova  was  arranging  her  kerchief  before  the 
mirror,  of  which  half  the  quicksilver  was  worn  off.  "  We 
did  not  commit  the  arson,  but  he  himself,  the  scoundrel, 
and  the  labourer  saw  it ;  he  would  not  kill  a  soul.  Tell 
him  to  call  out  Mitri.  Mitri  will  make  it  as  plain  to  him 
as  if  it  were  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Here  we  are  locked 
up,  whereas  we  know  nothing  about  it,  while  he,  the  scoun- 


236  KESUKRECTION 

drel,  is  disporting  with  another  man's  wife,  and  staying  all 
the  time  in  an  inn." 

"  This  is  against  the  law,"  Korabl^va  confirmed  her. 

"  I  will  tell  him,  I  certainly  will,"  replied  Maslova. 
"  Let  me  have  a  drink  to  brace  me  up,"  she  added,  wink- 
ing with  one  eye.  Korabl^va  filled  half  a  cup  for  her. 
Maslova  drained  it,  wiped  her  hps,  and  in  the  happiest 
frame  of  mind,  repeating  the  words,  "  To  brace  me  up," 
shaking  her  head,  and  smiling,  followed  the  matron  into 
the  corridor.  • 


XLVII. 

Nekiilyijdov  had  long  been  waiting  for  her  in  the 
vestibule.  Upon  arriving  at  the  prison,  he  rang  the  bell 
at  the  entrance  door,  and  handed  the  warden  of  the  day 
the  prosecuting  attorney's  permit. 

"  Whom  do  you  want  to  see  ?  " 

"  Prisoner  Maslova." 

"  You  can't  now ;  the  superintendent  is  busy." 

"  Is  he  in  the  office  ? "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  No,  here  in  the  visitors'  room,"  the  warden  replied 
with  embarrassment,  as  Nekhlyiidov  thought. 

"  Is  to-day  reception-day  ?  " 

"  No,  there  is  some  special  business,"  he  said. 

"  How,  then,  can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  "When  he  comes  out,  you  may  speak  to  him.  Wait 
awhile." 

Just  then  a  sergeant,  in  sparkling  galloons  and  with  a 
beaming,  shining  face  and  a  moustache  saturated  with 
tobacco  smoke,  came  in  through  a  side  door  and  sternly 
addressed  the  warden. 

"  Why  did  you  let  him  in  here  ?     To  the  office  —  " 

"  I  was  told  that  the  superintendent  was  here,"  Nekh- 
lyiidov said,  wondering  at  the  unrest  which  was  percepti- 
ble in  the  sergeant,  too. 

Just  then  the  inner  door  was  opened,  and  perspiring, 
excited  Petrdv  came  in. 

"  He  will  remember  this,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  ser- 
geant. The  sergeant  indicated  Nekhlyiidov  by  a  glance, 
and  Petrov  grew  silent,  frowned,  and  passed  out  through 
the  back  door. 

237 


238  RESURRECTION 

"  Who  will  remember  ?  Why  are  they  all  so  embar- 
rassed? Why  did  the  sergeant  make  such  a  sign  to 
him  ?  "  thought  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  You  cannot  wait  here.  Please,  come  to  the  office," 
the  sergeant  again  addressed  Nekhlyudov,  and  Nekhlyudov 
was  about  to  go,  when  the  superintendent  entered  through 
the  back  door,  even  more  embarrassed  than  his  subordi- 
nates. He  was  sighing  all  the  time.  Upon  noticing 
Nekhlyudov,  he  turned  to  the  warden. 

"  Feddtov,  bring  Maslova  from  the  fifth  of  the  women  to 
the  office,"  he  said. 

"  Please,  follow  me,"  he  said  to  Nekhlyudov.  They 
weut  over  a  steep  staircase  to  a  small  room  with  one 
window,  with  a  writing-desk,  and  a  few  chairs.  The 
superintendent  sat  down.  "  Hard,  hard  duties,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Nekhlyudov,  and  taking  out  a  fat  ciga- 
rette. 

"  You  are  evidently  tired,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  I  am  tired  of  this  whole  service,  —  the  duties  are 
very  hard.  You  try  to  alleviate  their  lot,  and  it  turns 
out  worse.  All  I  am  thinking  of  is  how  to  get  away. 
Hard,  hard  duties." 

Nekhlyudov  did  not  know  what  that  difficulty  of  the 
superintendent's  was,  but  on  that  day  he  noticed  in  him  a 
peculiar,  gloomy,  and  hopeless  mood,  which  evoked  his 
sympathy. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  very  hard,"  he  said.  "  But  why 
do  you  execute  this  duty  ? " 

"  I  have  no  other  means,  and  I  have  a  family." 

"  But  if  it  is  hard  for  you  —  " 

"  Still,  I  must  tell  you,  I  am  doing  some  good,  so  far  as 
in  my  power  lies ;  I  alleviate  wherever  I  can.  Many 
a  man  would  do  differently  in  my  place.  It  is  not  an 
easy  matter  to  take  care  of  two  thousand  people,  and  such 
people  !  One  must  know  how  to  treat  them.  I  feel  like 
pitying  them.     And  yet  I  dare  not   be  too  indulgent." 


IIESUIIKECTION  1^39 

The  superintendent  told  of  a  recent  brawl  between  the 
prisoners,  which  had  ended  in  murder. 

His  story  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Maslova, 
preceded  by  a  warden. 

Nekhlyudov  saw  her  in  the  door,  before  she  noticed  the 
superintendent.  Her  face  was  red.  She  walked  briskly 
back  of  the  warden,  and  kept  smiling  and  shaking  her 
head.  Upon  observing  the  superintendent,  she  glanced 
at  him  with  a  frightened  expression,  but  immediately 
regained  her  composure,  and  boldly  and  cheerfully 
addressed  Nekhlyvidov. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  said,  in  a  singsong  voice,  and 
smiling  ;  she  shook  his  hand  firmly,  not  as  at  the  previous 
meeting. 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  petition  to  sign,"  said  Nekh- 
lyudov, somewhat  surprised  at  the  bolder  manner  with 
which  she  now  met  him.  "  The  lawyer  has  written  this 
petition,  and  now  you  have  to  sign  it  before  it  is  sent  to 
St.  Petersburg." 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  sign  it.  One  may  do  anything," 
she  said,  blinking  with  one  eye,  and  smiling. 

Nekhlyudov  drew  the  folded  sheet  out  of  his  pocket 
and  went  up  to  the  table. 

"  May  she  sign  it  here  ? "  Nekhlyudov  asked  the  super- 
intendent. 

"  Come  here  and  sit  down,"  said  the  superintendent. 
"  Here  is  a  pen.     Can  you  write  ? " 

"  I  once  knew  how,"  she  said,  and,  smihng  and  adjust- 
ing her  skirt  and  the  sleeve  of  her  bodice,  sat  down  at 
the  table,  awkwardly  took  up  the  pen  with  her  small, 
energetic  hand,  and,  laughing,  glanced  at  Nekhlyudov. 

He  showed  her  where  and  what  to  write.  Carefully 
dipping  and  shaking  off  the  pen,  she  signed  her  name. 

"  Is  this  all  ? ".  she  asked,  glancing  now  at  Nekhlyudov, 
now  at  the  superintendent,  and  placing  the  pen  now  on 
the  inkstand  and  now  on  some  papers. 


240  EESURRECTION 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Nekhlyudov, 
taking  the  pen  out  of  her  hand. 

"  Very  well,  tell  it,"  she  said,  suddenly  becoming  se- 
rious, as  though  meditating  about  something,  or  wanting 
to  fall  asleep. 

The  superintendent  arose  and  went  out,  and  Nekh- 
lyudov was  left  alone  with  her. 


XLVIIL 

The  warden  who  had  brought  Maslova  sat  down  on  the 
window-sill,  at  a  distance  from  the  table.  For  Nekh- 
lyiidov  the  decisive  moment  had  arrived.  He  was 
continually  reproaching  himself  for  not  having  told  her 
the  main  thing  at  their  first  meeting,  namely,  that  he 
wished  to  marry  her,  and  so  he  decided  to  tell  her  now. 
She  was  sitting  at  one  side  of  the  table,  and  Nekhlyudov 
sat  down  opposite  her,  on  the  other  side.  The  room  was 
light,  and  Nekhlyudov  for  the  first  time  clearly  saw  her 
face,  close  to  him ;  h^  saw  the  wrinkles  near  her  eyes 
and  lips  and  swollen  eyelids,  and  he  felt  even  more  pity 
for  her  than  before. 

Leaning  over  the  table,  so  as  not  to  be  heard  by  the 
warden,  a  man  of  Jewish  type,  with  grayish  side-whiskers, 
who  was  sitting  at  the  window,  —  the  only  one  in  the 
room,  —  he  said  : 

"  If  the  petition  does  not  bear  fruit,  we  shall  appeal  to 
his  Majesty.     We  shall  do  all  that  can  be  done." 

"  The  main  thing  would  be  to  have  a  good  lawyer  —  " 
she  interrupted  him.  "  My  counsel  was  an  all-around 
fool.  He  did  notliing  but  make  me  compliments,"  she 
said,  smiling.  "  If  they  had  known  then  that  I  was 
acquainted  with  you,  things  would  have  gone  differently. 
But  as  things  are,  everybody  thinks  that  I  am  a  thief." 

"  How  strange  she  is  to-day,"  thought  Nekhlyudov,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  saying  something  when  she  began  to 
speak  again. 

"  This  is  what  I  have  to  say.     There  is  an  old  woman 

confined  with  us,  and  all,  you  know,  are  marvelling  at 

241 


242  KESURRECTION 

her.  Such  a  fine  old  woman,  and  yet  she  is  imprisoned 
for  nothing,  and  so  is  her  son,  and  all  know  that  they  are 
not  guilty  ;  they  are  accused  of  incendiarism.  She  heard, 
you  know,  that  I  am  acquainted  with  you,"  said  Maslova, 
turning  her  head  and  looking  at  him,  "  so  she  said,  '  Tell 
him  about  it,  that  he  may  call  out  my  son,  who  will 
tell  him  the  fact.'  Menshov  is  their  name.  Well,  will  you 
do  it  ?  You  know,  she  is  such  a  charming  old  woman : 
anybody  can  see  that  she  is  innocent.  My  dear,  do  some- 
thing for  tliem,"  she  said,  glancing  at  him,  lowering  her 
eyes,  and  smiling. 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  find  out  and  do  what  I  can,"  said 
Nekhlyudov,  wondering  ever  more  at  her  ease.  "  But  I 
want  to  speak  to  you  about  my  affair.  Do  you  re- 
member what  I  told  you  the  last  time  ? "  he  said. 

"  You  said  many  things.  What  did  you  say  then  ? " 
she  said,  smiling  all  the  time,  and  burning  her  head  now 
to  one  side  and  now  to  anotlier. 

"  I  said  that  I  came  to  ask  your  forgiveness,"  he  said. 

"What  is  the  use  all  the  time  asking  to  be  forgiven? 
What  good  will  that  do  ?     You  had  better  —  " 

"  That  I  want  to  atone  for  my  guilt,"  continued  Nekh- 
lyudov, "  and  to  atone  not  in  words,  but  in  deeds.  I  have 
decided  to  marry  you  —  " 

Her  face  suddenly  expressed  affright.  Her  squinting 
eyes  stood  motionless  and  gazed  at  him. 

"  What  do  you  want  that  for  ? "  she  said,  with  a  scowl. 

"  I  feel  that  I  ou"ht  to  do  so  before  God." 

"  What  God  have  you  found  there  ?  You  are  not  talk- 
ing the  right  thing.  God  ?  What  God  ?  You  ought  to 
have  thought  of  God  then  —  "  she  said,  and,  opening  her 
mouth,  stopped. 

Nekhlyudov  only  now  smelled  her  strong  breath  of 
liquor,  and  understood  the  cause  of  her  agitation. 

"  Calm  yourself,"  he  said. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  calm  myself  about ;  you  think 


KESURRECTION  24 


o 


that  I  am  druuk.  So  I  am,  but  I  know  what  I  am  say- 
ing ! "  she  spoke  rapidly,  with  a  purple  blush.  "  I  am  a 
convict,  a  whore,  but  you  are  a  gentleman,  a  prince,  and 
you  have  no  business  soiling  yourself  with  me.  Go  to 
your  princesses ;  my  price  is  a  red  bank-note." 

"  However  cruelly  you  may  speak,  you  cannot  say  all 
that  I  feel,"  Nekhlyiidov  said,  softly,  all  in  a  tremble. 
"  You  cannot  imagine  to  what  extent  I  feel  my  guilt 
toward  vou ! " 

"  Feel  my  guilt  — "  she  mocked  him,  with  malice. 
"  Then  you  did  not  feel,  but  stuck  one  hundred  roubles 
in  my  bosom.     That  is  your  price  —  " 

"  I  know,  I  know,  but  what  is  to  be  done  now  ? "  said 
Nekhlyiidov.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  I  will  not 
leave  you.     I  will  do  what  I  have  told  you  I  would." 

"  And  I  say  you  will  not  do  so,"  she  cried,  laughing  out 
loud. 

"  Katyusha  ! "  he  began,  touching  her  hand. 

"  Go  away  from  me.  I  am  a  convict,  and  you  are 
a  prince,  and  you  have  no  business  here,"  she  exclaimed, 
all  transformed  by  her  anger,  and  pulling  her  hand  away 
from  him. 

"  You  want  to  save  yourself  through  me,"  she  continued, 
hastening  to  utter  everything  that  was  rising  in  her  soul. 
"  You  have  enjoyed  me  in  this  world,  and  you  want  to  get 
your  salvation  through  me  in  the  world  to  come  !  I  loathe 
you,  and  your  glasses,  and  your  fat,  accursed  mug.  Go 
away,  go  away  ! "  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet  with  an 
energetic  motion. 

The  warden  walked  up  to  them. 

"  Don't  make  such  a  scandal.     It  will  not  do  —  " 

"  Leave  her  alone,  if  you  please,"  said  Nekhlyvldov. 

"  I  just  wanted  her  not  to  forget  herself,"  said  the 
warden. 

"  No,  just  wait  awhile,  if  you  please,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

The  warden  walked  back  to  the  window. 


244  EESURRECTION 

Maslova  sat  down  again,  lowering  her  eyes  and  tightly 
clasping  her  small  hands  with  their  fingers  crossed. 

Nekhlyildov  was  standing  over  her,  not  knowing  what 
to  do. 

"  You  do  not  believe  me,"  he  said. 

"  That  you  will  marry  me  ?  That  will  never  happen.  I 
will  hang  myself  rather  than  marry  you !  So  there  you 
have  it." 

"  Still  I  will  serve  you." 

"That  is  your  affair.  Only  I  do  not  need  anything 
from  you.     I  am  telling  you  the  truth,"  she  said. 

"  Why  did  I  not  die  then  ? "  she  added,  bursting  out 
into  pitiful  tears. 

Nekhlyudov  could  not  speak,  for  her  tears  were  com- 
municated to  him. 

She  raised  her  head,  looked  at  him,  as  though  in  sur- 
prise, and  began  with  her  kerchief  to  dry  the  tears  that 
were  coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

The  warden  now  came  up  and  reminded  them  that  the 
time  had  expired. 

Maslova  got  up. 

"  You  are  excited  now.  If  I  can,  I  shall  be  here  to- 
morrow. In  the  meantime  think  it  over,"  said  Nekhlyu- 
dov. 

She  did  not  reply,  and,  without  looking  at  him,  went 
out  with  the  warden. 

"  Well,  girl,  you  will  have  a  fine  time  now,"  Karabl^va 
said  to  Maslova,  when  she  returned  to  the  cell.  "  He  is 
evidently  dreadfully  stuck  on  you.  Be  on  the  lookout 
while  he  comes  to  see  you.  He  will  release  you.  Eich 
people  can  do  everything." 

"  That's  so,"  said  the  flagwoman,  in  her  singsong  voice. 
"  Let  a  poor  man  marry,  and  the  night  is  too  short ;  but 
a  rich  man,  —  let  him  make  up  his  mind  for  anything, 
and  everything  will  happen  as  he  wishes.  My  darling, 
we  once  had  such  a  respectable  gentleman  who  —  " 


RESURKECTION  245 

"  Well,  did  you  speak  to  him  about  my  affair  ? "  the 
old  woman  asked. 

Maslova  did  not  reply  to  her  companions,  but  lay  down 
on  the  bench  and,  fixing  her  squinting  eyes  upon  the 
corner,  lay  thus  until  evening.  An  agonizing  work  was 
going  on  within  her.  That  which  Nekhlyudov  had  told 
her  brought  her  back  to  the  world,  in  which  she  had  suf- 
fered, and  which  she  had  left,  without  understanding  it, 
and  hating  it.  She  now  lost  the  oblivion  in  which  she 
had  been  living,  and  yet  it  was  too  painful  to  live  with  a 
clear  memory  of  what  had  happened. 


XLIX. 

"  So  this  it  is,  this  it  is,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  upon 
coming  away  from  the  jail,  and  now  for  the  first  time 
grasping  his  whole  guilt.  If  he  had  not  tried  to  atone,  to 
expiate  his  deed,  he  would  never  have  felt  the  extent  of 
his  crime ;  moreover,  she  would  not  have  become  con- 
scious of  the  whole  wrong  which  was  done  her.  Only 
now  everything  had  come  to  the  surface,  in  all  its  terror. 
He  now  saw  for  the  first  time  what  it  was  he  had  done 
with  the  soul  of  that  woman,  and  she  saw  and  compre- 
hended what  had  been  done  to  her.  Before  this,  Nekhlyu- 
dov  had  been  playing  with  his  sentiment  of  self-adulation 
and  of  repentance,  and  now  he  simply  felt  terribly.  To 
cast  her  off,  that,  he  felt,  he  never  could  do,  and  yet  he 
could  not  imagine  what  would  come  of  his  relations  with 
her. 

At  the  entrance,  Nekhlyildov  was  approached  by  a 
warden,  with  crosses  and  decorations,  who,  with  a  disa- 
greeable and  insinuating  face  and  in  a  mysterious  manner, 
handed  him  a  note. 

"  Here  is  a  note  to  your  Serenity  from  a  person  —  "  he 
said,  giving  Nekhlyudov  an  envelope. 

"  What  person  ?  " 

"  Eead  it,  and  you  will  see.  A  poHtical  prisoner.  I 
am  a  warden  of  that  division,  —  so  she  asked  me  to  give 
it  to  you.  Although  this  is  not  permitted,  yet  human- 
ity —  "  the  warden  said,  in  an  unnatural  voice. 

Nekhlyudov  was  amazed  to  see  a  warden  of  the  polit- 
ical division  handing  him  a  note,  in  the  prison  itself,  almost 
in  view  of  everybody.     He  did  not  yet  know  that  this  war- 

246 


RESURRECTION  247 

den  was  also  a  spy,  but  he  took  the  note  and  read  it  as 
he  came  out  of  the  jail.  The  note  was  written  with  a 
pencil,  in  a  bold  hand,  in  reformed  orthography,  and  ran 
as  follows : 

"  Having  learned  that  you  are  visiting  the  prison  in 
interest  of  a  criminal  prisoner,  I  wanted  to  meet  you.  Ask 
for  an  interview  with  me.  You  will  get  the  permission, 
and  I  will  tell  you  many  important  things,  both  for  your 
protegee  and  for  our  group.     Ever  grateful 

"  Vyeea  Bogodukhovski." 

Vy^ra  Bogodukhovski  had  been  a  teacher  in  the  wilder- 
nesses of  the  Government  of  Novgorod,  whither  Nekhlyii- 
dov  had  gone  to  hunt  with  some  comrades  of  his.  This 
teacher  had  turned  to  him  with  the  request  to  give  her 
money  with  which  to  attend  the  higher  courses.  Nekblyu- 
dov  had  given  her  the  money  and  had  forgotten  all  about 
it.  iSTow  it  turned  out  that  this  lady  was  a  political  crim- 
inal, and  in  prison,  where,  no  doubt,  she  had  heard  of  his 
affair,  and  now  proposed  her  services  to  him. 

How  easy  and  simple  everything  had  been  then.  And 
how  hard  and  complicated  everything  was  now.  Nekh- 
lyiidov  vividly  and  with  pleasure  thought  of  that  time 
and  of  his  acquaintance  with  Vy^ra  Bogodukhovski. 
That  happened  before  the  Butter- week,  in  the  wilderness, 
about  sixty  versts  from  the  nearest  railroad.  The  chase 
had  been  successful ;  they  had  killed  two  bears,  and  were 
at  dinner,  before  their  departure,  when  the  proprietor  of 
the  cabin  in  which  they  were  stopping  came  in  and 
announced  that  the  deacon's  daughter  had  come  to  see 
Prince  Nekhlyudov.  "  Is  she  pretty  ?  "  somebody  asked. 
"  Please,  don't,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  looking  serious ;  he 
rose  from  table,  wiped  liis  mouth,  and  wondering  what 
the  deacon's  daughter  could  wish  of  him,  went  into  the 
landlord's  room. 


248  RESURRECTION 

The  girl  was  there.  She  wore  a  felt  hat  and  a  fur 
coat ;  she  was  venous,  and  had  a  thin,  homely  face,  but 
her  eyes,  with  the  brows  arching  upwards,  were  beautiful. 

"  Vy^ra  Efr^movna,  speak  with  him,"  said  the  old 
hostess ;  "  this  is  the  prince.     I  shall  go  out." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? "  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"I  —  I  —  You  see,  you  are  rich,  you  squander  money 
on  trifles,  on  the  chase,  I  know,"  began  the  girl,  dread- 
fully embarrassed,  "  and  I  want  only  one  thing,  —  I  want 
to  be  useful  to  people,  and  I  can't  because  I  know 
nothing." 

Her  eyes  were  sincere  and  kindly,  and  the  whole  ex- 
pression, both  of  her  determination  and  timidity,  was  so 
pathetic  that  Nekhlyudov,  as  sometimes  happened  with 
him,  at  once  put  himself  in  her  place,  and  he  understood 
and  pitied  her. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

"  I  am  a  teacher,  but  should  like  to  attend  the  higher 
courses.  They  won't  let  me.  Not  exactly  they  won't 
let  me,  but  they  have  no  means.  Give  me  the  necessary 
money,  and  I  will  pay  you  back  when  I  am  through 
with  my  studies.  I  have  been  thinking  that  rich  people 
bait  bears  and  give  peasants  to  drink, —  and  that  all  that 
is  bad.  Why  could  they  not  do  some  good,  too  ?  All  I 
need  is  eighty  roubles.  And  if  you  do  not  wish  to  do 
me  the  favour,  well  and  good,"  she  said,  angrily. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for 
giving  me  this  opportunity  —  I  shaU  bring  it  to  you  in 
a  minute,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

He  went  into  the  vestibule,  and  there  met  his  compan- 
ion, who  had  heard  the  whole  conversation.  Without 
replying  to  the  jokes  of  his  comrades,  he  took  the  money 
out  of  his  pouch,  and  brought  it  out  to  her. 

"  Please,  please,  don't  thank  me  for  it.  It  is  I  who 
must  be  thankful." 

It  now  gave  Nekhlyudov  pleasure  to  think  of  aU  that ; 


KESURRECTION  249 

it  gave  him  pleasure  to  think  how  he  came  very  near 
quarrelling  with  an  officer  who  wanted  to  make  a  bad 
joke  about  it;  and  how  another  comrade  defended  him; 
and  how,  on  account  of  that,  he  became  a  close  friend  of 
his ;  and  how  the  whole  chase  had  been  successful  and 
happy  ;  and  how  good  he  felt  as  they  were  returning  in 
the  night  to  the  railroad  station.  The  procession  of  two- 
horse  sleighs  moved  in  single  file,  noiselessly  trotting 
along  the  narrow  road  through  the  forest,  with  its  tall 
trees  here  and  its  bushes  there,  and  its  firs  shrouded  in 
thick  layers  of  snow.  Somebody,  flashing  a  ^red  fire 
in  the  darkness,  lighted  a  fragrant  cigarette.  Osip,  the 
bear  driver,  ran  from  sleigh  to  sleigh,  knee-deep  in 
the  snow,  straightening  things  out,  and  telling  about  the 
elks  that  now  walked  over  the  deep  snow,  gnawing  at 
the  aspen  bark,  and  about  the  bears  that  now  lay  in  their 
hidden  lairs,  exhaling  their  warm  breath  through  the 
air-holes.  Nekhlyudov  thought  of  all  that,  and,  above 
all  else,  of  the  blissful  consciousness  of  his  health  and 
strength  and  a  life  free  from  cares.  His  lungs,  expand- 
ing against  the  fur  coat,  inhaled  the  frosty  air ;  upon  his 
face  dropped  the  snowflakes  from  the  branches  which 
were  touched  by  the  horses'  arches ;  and  on  his  soul 
there  were  no  cares,  no  regrets,  no  fear,  no  desires.  How 
good  it  all  was !  And  now  ?  0  Lord,  how  painful  and 
oppressive ! 

Obviously  Vydra  Efr^movna  was  a  revolutionist,  and 
now  confined  in  prison  for  revolutionist  affairs.  He 
ought  to  see  her,  especially  since  she  promised  to  advise 
him  how  to  improve  Maslova's  situation. 


L. 

Upon  awakening  the  next  morning,  Nekhlyudov  re- 
called everything  that  had  happened  the  day  before,  and 
he  was  horrified. 

Still,  notwithstanding  his  terror,  he  decided,  more  firmly 
than  ever  before,  to  continue  the  work  which  he  had 
begun. 

With  this  feeling  of  the  consciousness  of  his  duty,  he 
left  the  house,  and  rode  to  Masl^nnikov,  to  ask  for  the 
permission  to  visit  in  the  jail,  not  only  Maslova,  but  also 
the  old  woman  Menshdv  and  her  son,  for  whom  Maslova 
had  interceded.  He  aLso  wished  to  be  permitted  to  see 
Vy^ra  Bogodiikhovski,  who  might  be  useful  to  Maslova. 

Nekhlyudov  used  to  know  Masl^unikov  in  the  army. 
Maslennikov  was  then  the  regiment's  treasurer.  He  was 
a  very  good-hearted,  most  obedient  officer,  who  knew 
nothing  and  wanted  to  know  nothing  but  the  regiment 
and  the  imperial  family.  Now  Nekhlyudov  found  him 
as  an  administrator,  who  had  exchanged  the  regiment  for 
a  Government  and  its  office.  He  was  married  to  a  rich 
and  vivacious  woman,  who  compelled  him  to  leave  his 
military  service  for  a  civil  appointment. 

She  made  fun  of  him  and  petted  him  like  a  docile 
animal.  Nekhlyudov  had  once  been  at  their  house  the 
winter  before,  but  he  found  the  couple  so  uninteresting 
that  he  never  called  again. 

Maslennikov  beamed  with  joy  when  he  saw  Nekhlyu- 
dov. He  had  the  same  fat,  red  face,  and  the  same  cor- 
pulence, and  the  same  gorgeous  attire  that  distinguished 
him  in  the  army.     There  it  had  been  an  ever  clean  uni- 

250 


KESURRECTION  251 

form,  which  fitted  over  his  shoulders  and  breast  accord- 
ing to  the  latest  demands  of  fashion,  or  a  fatigue  coat. 
Here  it  was  a  civil  officer's  dress,  of  the  latest  fashion, 
which  fitted  just  as  snugly  over  his  well-fed  body  and 
displayed  a  broad  chest.  He  was  clad  in  his  vice-uniform. 
Notwithstanding  the  disparity  of  their  years  (Masl(5nni- 
kov  was  about  forty),  they  spoke  "  thou  "  to  each  other. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  Let  us  go  to  my 
wife.  I  have  just  ten  minutes  free  before  the  meeting. 
My  chief  is  away,  and  so  I  rule  the  Government,"  he 
said  with  a  pleasure  which  he  could  not  conceal. 

"  I  have  come  on  business  to  you." 

« What  is  it  ? "  Masl«^unikov  said,  as  though  on  his 
guard,  in  a  frightened  and  somewhat  severe  tone. 

"  In  the  jail  there  is  a  person  in  whom  I  am  very  much 
interested  "  (at  the  word  "  jail "  Maslennikov's  face  looked 
sterner  still),  "  and  1  should  like  to  meet  that  person,  not 
in  the  general  reception-room,  but  in  the  office,  and  not 
only  on  stated  days,  but  oftener.  I  was  told  that  this 
depended  on  you." 

"  Of  course,  mon  cher,  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  I  can 
for  you,"  said  Masl^nnikov,  touchmg  his  knees  with  both 
hands,  as  though  to  mollify  his  majesty.  "  I  can  do  that, 
but,  you  see,  I  am  caliph  only  for  an  hour." 

"  So  you  will  give  me  a  permit  to  see  her  ? " 

"  It  is  a  woman  ?  " 

"Yes." 

«  What  is  she  there  for  ? " 

**  For  poisoning.     But  she  is  irregularly  condemned." 

"  So  there  you  have  a  just  court ;  Us  n'cn  font  point 
d'autres"  he  said,  for  some  reason  in  French.  " I  know 
you  do  not  agree  with  me,  but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  e'est 
mon  opinion  bien  arretee,"  he  added,  expressing  an  opinion 
wliich  he  had  for  a  year  been  reading  in  various  forms  in 
the  retrograde  conservative  papers.  "  I  know  you  are 
a  liberaL" 


252  RESURRECTION 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  a  liberal  or  anything 
else,"  Nekhlyiidov  said,  smiling ;  he  was  always  surprised 
to  find  that  he  was  supposed  to  belong  to  some  party  and 
to  be  called  a  liberal  because,  in  judging  a  man,  he  used  to 
say  that  all  are  equal  before  the  law,  that  people  ought 
not  to  be  tortured  and  flogged,  especially  if  they  had  not 
been  tried.  "  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  a  liberal  or  not, 
but  I  am  sure  that  the  courts  we  now  have,  whatever 
their  faults  may  be,  are  better  than  those  we  used  to 
have." 

"  Who  is  your  lawyer  ?  " 

"  I  have  applied  to  Fanarin." 

"  Ah,  Fanarin !  "  said  Masl(5unikov,  frowning,  recall- 
ing how,  the  year  before,  that  Fanarin  had  examined 
him  as  a  witness  at  court,  and  how  for  half  an  hour  he 
had  with  the  greatest  politeness  subjected  him  to  ridicule. 

"  I  should  advise  you  not  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.     Fanarin  est  un  homme  tare." 

"  I  have  also  another  request  to  make  of  you,"  Nekh- 
lyiidov said,  without  answering  him.  "  I  used  to  know  a 
girl,  a  school-teacher,  —  she  is  a  very  pitiable  creature, 
and  she  also  is  now  in  jail  and  wants  to  see  me.  Can 
you  give  me  a  permit  to  see  her,  too  ? " 

MasMnnikov  bent  his  head  a  little  sidewise  and  fell 
to  musing. 

"  Is  she  a  political  ? " 

"  So  I  was  told." 

"  You  see,  interviews  with  political  prisoners  are  allowed 
only  to  relatives,  but  I  will  give  you  a  general  permit. 
Je  sais  que  vous  n'ahuserez  pas  — 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  Your  prot^g^e  —  Bogodukhov- 
ski  ?     Bile  est  jolie  ?  " 

"  Hideuse." 

Masl^nnikov  shook  liis  head  in  disapproval,  went  up 
to  the  table,  and  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  with  a  printed 
heading  wrote  in  a  bold  hand  :  "  The  bearer  of  this.  Prince 


RESURRECTION  253 

Dmitri  Ivanovich  Nekhlyudov,  is  herewith  permitted  to 
see  in  the  prison  office  the  inmate  of  the  castle  Burgess 
Maslova,  and  also  Assistant  Surgeon  Bogodilkhovski,"  he 
added,  and  finished  with  a  sweeping  flourish. 

"  You  will  see  what  order  they  keep  there.  It  is  very 
difficult  to  keep  order  there,  because  everything  is  crowded, 
especially  with  transport  convicts  ;  but  I  watch  the  whole 
business  carefully,  and  I  love  it.  You  will  find  them  all 
in  good  condition,  and  they  are  satisfied.  One  must  know 
how  to  treat  them.  The  other  day  there  was  an  unpleas- 
ant affair,  —  a  case  of  disobedience.  Anybody  else  would 
have  at  once  declared  it  to  be  a  conspiracy,  and  would 
have  made  it  hard  for  many.  But  with  us  everything 
passed  quite  well.  One  must  show,  on  the  one  hand, 
great  care,  and  on  the  other,  a  firm  hand,"  he  said,  com- 
pressing his  white,  plump  hand,  which  stuck  out  from 
the  white,  stiff  shirt-r:leeve  with  its  gold  cuff-button,  and 
displaying  a  turquoise  ring,  "  care  and  a  firm  hand." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,'-'  said  Nekhlyudov.  "  I  was 
there  twice,  and  I  felt  dreadfully  oppressed." 

"  Do  you  know  what  ?  You  ought  to  meet  Countess 
Passek,"  continued  talkative  Masl^unikov ;  "  she  has 
devoted  herself  entirely  to  this  matter.  Elk  fait  heau- 
coup  de  hien.  Thanks  to  her,  and,  perhaps,  to  me,  I  may 
say  so  without  false  modesty,  it  was  possible  to  change 
everything,  and  to  change  it  in  'such  a  way  that  the 
terrible  things  that  were  there  before  have  been  removed, 
and.  that  the  pri:  oners  are  quite  comfortable  there.  You 
will  see  for  yourself.  But  here  is  Fanarin,  I  do  not  know 
him  personally,  and  in  my  public  position  our  paths 
diverge,  —  he  is  positively  a  bad  man,  and  he  takes  the 
liberty  of  saying  such  things  in  court,  such  things  —  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  taking  the  paper ; 
without  listening  to  the  end  of  what  he  had  to  say,  he 
bade  his  former  comrade  good-bye. 

"  Won't  you  go  to  see  my  wife  ? " 


254  RESURRECTION 

"  No,  you  must  pardon  me,  but  I  am  busy  now." 

"  How  is  that  ?  She  will  not  forgive  me,"  said  Masl^n- 
nikov,  accompanying  his  former  companion  as  far  as  the 
first  lauding  of  the  staircase,  just  as  he  did  with  people 
not  of  the  first,  but  of  the  second  importance,  such  as  he 
considered  Nekhlyiidov  to  be.     "  Do  go  in  for  a  minute  ! " 

But  Nekhlyiidov  remained  firm,  and  just  as  the  lackey 
and  porter  rushed  up  to  Nekhlyiidov  and,  handing  him 
his  overcoat  and  cane,  opened  for  him  the  door,  in  front 
of  which  stood  a  policeman,  he  said  that  he  could  not 
under  any  circumstances  just  now. 

"  Well,  then,  come  on  Thursday,  if  you  please.  That  is 
her  reception-day.  I  shall  tell  her  you  are  coming," 
Masl^nnikov  cried  down  the  stairs  to  him. 


LI. 

Having  on  that  day  gone  from  MasMnnikov  straight 
to  the  prison,  Nekhlyiidov  directed  his  steps  to  the 
familiar  apartments  of  the  superintendent.  Again,  as  be- 
fore, the  sounds  of  the  miserable  piano  were  heard ;  now  it 
was  not  the  rhapsody  that  was  being  played,  but  dementi's 
Etudes,  again  with  unusual  power,  distinctness,  and  rapid- 
ity. The  chambermaid  with  the  bandaged  eye,  who 
opened  the  door,  said  that  the  captain  was  at  home,  and 
led  Nekhlyildov  into  a  small  drawing-room,  with  a  divan, 
a  table,  and  a  large  lamp  with  a  rose-coloured  paper  shade 
burnt  on  one  side,  which  was  standing  on  a  woollen 
embroidered  napkin.  The  superintendent,  with  a  care- 
worn, gloomy  face,  entered  the  room. 

"  What  is  it,  if  you  please  ? "  he  said,  buttoning  the 
middle  button  of  his  uniform. 

"  I  saw  the  vice-governor,  and  here  is  the  permit," 
said  Nekhlyiidov,  handing  him  the  paper.  "  I  should 
hke  to  see  Maslova." 

"  Markova  ?  "  asked  the  superintendent,  not  being  able 
to  hear  well  through  the  sounds  of  the  music. 

"  Maslova." 

"  Oh,  yes  !     Oh,  yes  ! " 

The  superintendent  arose  and  walked  up  to  the  door, 
from  which  were  heard  dementi's  roulades. 

"  Marusya,  stop  for  just  a  minute,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
which  showed  that  the  music  was  the  cross  of  his  life, 
"  for  I  can't  hear  a  word." 

The  piano  was  silenced ;  dissatisfied  steps  were  heard, 
and  somebody  peeped  through  the  door. 

255 


256  KESUKIiECTION 

The  superintendent  seemed  to  feel  a  relief  from  the 
cessation  of  that  music :  he  lighted  a  cigarette  of  weak 
tobacco,  and  offered  one  to  Nekhlyiidov,  who  declined  it. 

"  So,  as  I  said,  I  should  like  to  see  Maslova." 

"  That  you  may,"  said  the  superintendent. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ? "  he  addressed  a  little  girl 
of  five  or  six  years  of  age,  who  had  entered  the  room 
and  was  walkiug  toward  her  father,  turning  all  the  time 
in  such  a  way  as  not  to  take  her  eyes  off  Nekhlyiidov. 
"  If  you  don't  look  out,  you  will  fall,"  said  the  superintend- 
ent, smiling  as  he  saw  the  child,  who  was  not  looking 
ahead  of  her,  catch  her  foot  in  the  rug,  and  run  to  him. 

"  If  I  may,  I  should  like  to  go  there." 

"  It  is  not  convenient  to  see  Maslova  to-day,"  said  the 
superintendent. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,"  said  the  superintendent,  with  a 
slight  smile.  "  Prince,  don't  give  her  any  money.  If  you 
wish,  give  it  to  me  for  her.  Everything  will  belong  to 
her.  But  you,  no  doubt,  gave  her  money  yesterday, 
and  she  got  liquor,  —  it  is  impossible  to  root  out  this 
evil,  —  and  she  has  been  so  drunk  to-day  that  she  is  in  a 
riotous  mood." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? " 

"  Truly.  I  had  even  to  use  severe  measures,  and  to 
transfer  her  to  another  cell.  She  is  otherwise  a  peaceful 
woman,  but  don't  give  her  any  money.  They  are  such  a 
lot  —  " 

Nekhlyiidov  vividly  recalled  yesterday's  scene,  and  he 
again  felt  terrible. 

"  And  may  I  see  Vy(5ra  Bogodukhovski,  a  political 
prisoner?"  asked  Nekhlyiidov,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Yes,  you  may,"  said  the  superintendent,  embracing 
the  little  girl,  who  was  all  the  time  watching  Nekhlyii- 
dov ;  he  rose,  and,  gently  pushing  the  girl  aside,  went  into 
the  antechamber. 


RESURRECTION  257 

The  superintendent  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  putting 
on  his  overcoat,  which  was  handed  to  him  by  the  servant 
with  the  bandaged  eye,  and  getting  out  of  the  door, 
when  dementi's  clear-cut  roulades  began  to  ripple  once 
more. 

"  She  was  in  the  conservatory,  but  there  were  dis- 
orders there.  She  has  great  talent,"  said  the  superin- 
tendent, descending  the  staircase.  "  She  wants  to  appear 
in  concerts." 

The  superintendent  and  Nekhlyiidov  walked  over  to 
the  jail.  The  gate  immediately  opened  at  the  approach 
of  the  superintendent.  The  wardens,  saluting  him  by 
putting  their  hands  to  their  visors,  followed  him  with 
their  eyes.  Four  men,  with  heads  half-shaven,  and  carry- 
ing some  vats  with  something  or  other,  met  them  in  the 
anteroom,  and  they  all  pressed  against  the  wall  when 
they  saw  him.  One  especially  crouched  and  scowled,  his 
black  eyes  sparkling. 

"  Of  course  the  talent  has  to  be  developed  and  must 
not  be  buried  ;  but  in  a  small  house  it  is  pretty  hard," 
the  superintendent  continued  the  conversation,  not  paying 
the  slightest  attention  to  the  prisoners ;  dragging  along 
his  weary  legs,  he  passed,  accompanied  by  Nekhlyiidov, 
into  the  assembly-room. 

"  Who  is  it  you  wish  to  see  ? " 

"  Vy^ra  Bogodiikhovski." 

"  Is  she  in  the  tower  ?  You  will  have  to  wait  a  little," 
he  turned  to  Nekhlyudov. 

"  And  can  I  not  in  the  meantime  see  the  prisoners 
Menshov,  —  mother  and  son,  accused  of  arson  ? " 

"  That  is  from  cell  twenty-one.  Very  well,  I  shall 
have  them  come  out." 

"  May  I  not  see  Menshov  in  his  cell  ? " 

"  You  will  be  more  comfortable  in  the  assembly-room." 

"  No,  it  would  interest  me  more  there." 

"  What  interest  can  you  find  there  ? " 


258  RESURRECTION 

Just  then  the  dandyish  assistant  came  out  of  the  side 
door. 

"  Please,  take  the  prince  to  Menshov's  cell.  Cell  twenty- 
one,"  the  superintendent  said  to  his  assistant,  "  and  then 
I  shall  have  her  out  in  the  office ;  I  shall  have  her  out. 
What  is  her  name  ? " 

"  Vy^ra  Bogodiikhovski,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

The  assistant  superintendent  was  a  blond  young  officer, 
with  blackened  moustache,  who  was  spreading  around 
him  an  atmosphere  of  eau  de  Cologne. 

"  Please,  follow  me,"  he  turned  to  Nekhlyiidov  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  "  Are  you  interested  in  our  establish- 
ment ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  am  also  interested  in  that  man,  who,  so  I 
was  told,  is  quite  innocent." 

The  assistant  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Yes,  such  things  happen,"  he  answered  calmly,  po- 
litely letting  the  visitor  pass  before  him  into  the  stinking 
corridor.     "  Often  they  lie.     If  you  please  !  " 

The  doors  of  some  cells  were  open,  and  a  few  prisoners 
were  in  the  corridor.  Barely  nodding  to  the  wardens  and 
looking  askance  at  the  prisoners,  who  hugged  the  wall 
and  went  into  their  cells,  or  stopped  at  the  door  and, 
holding  their  arms  down  their  legs,  in  soldier  fashion 
followed  the  officer  with  their  eyes,  the  assistant  took 
Nekhlyiidov  through  one  corridor,  then  to  another  on  the 
left,  which  was  barred  by  an  iron  door. 

This  corridor  was  darker  and  more  malodorous  than 
the  first.  Padlocked  doors  shut  off  this  corridor  at  both 
ends.  In  these  doors  there  were  httle  loopholes,  called 
"  eyelets,"  about  an  inch  in  diameter.  There  was  no  one 
in  the  corridor  but  an  old  warden  with  a  sad,  wrinkled  face. 

"  Where  is  Menshov  ? "  the  assistant  asked  the  warden. 

"  The  eighth  on  the  left." 

"  And  are  these  occupied  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  They  are  all  occupied  but  one." 


LII. 

"  May  I  look  in  ? "  asked  Xekhlyiidov. 

"  If  you  please,"  the  assistant  said,  with  a  pleasant 
smile,  and  turned  to  the  warden  to  ask  him  something. 

Nekhlyiidov  looked  into  one  loophole :  a  tall  young 
man,  with  a  small  black  beard,  wearing  nothing  but  his 
underclothes,  was  rapidly  walking  up  and  down  ;  upon 
hearing  a  rustling  sound  at  the  door,  he  looked  up, 
frowned,  and  proceeded  to  walk. 

Nekhlyudov  peeped  into  another  loophole.  His  eye 
met  .another  large  frightened  eye,  which  was  looking 
through  the  hole,  and  he  hurriedly  stepped  aside.  Upon 
looking  through  a  third  loophole,  he  saw  a  man  of  dimin- 
utive size,  with  his  head  covered  by  a  cloak,  all  rolled  up 
in  a  heap  and  asleep.  In  a  fourth  cell  sat  a  broad-faced, 
pale  man,  with  his  head  drooping  low,  and  his  elbows 
resting  upon  his  knees.  When  he  heard  the  steps,  he 
raised  his  head  and  looked  toward  the  door.  In  his 
whole  countenance,  but  especially  in  liis  large  eyes,  was 
an  expression  of  hopeless  pining.  Evidently  it  did  not 
interest  him  to  know  who  it  was  that  was  peeping  into 
his  cell.  Whoever  it  may  have  been,  he  did  not  expect 
anything  good  from  him.  Nekhlyudov  felt  terribly  ill  at 
ease ;  he  ceased  looking  in,  and  went  up  to  cell  twenty- 
one,  where  Menshdv  was  confined.  The  warden  turned 
the  key  and  opened  the  door.  A  young,  venous  fellow, 
with  a  long  neck,  with  kindly  round  eyes  and  a  small 
beard,  was  standing  near  his  cot ;  he  hurriedly  put  on  his 
cloak  and,  with  a  frightened  face,  looked  at  those  who 
had  entered.     Nekhlyudov  was  particularly  struck  by  hig 

259 


260  RESURRECTION 

kindly  round  eyes,  that  glided  with  an  interrogative  and 
frightened  glance  from  him  to  the  warden,  to  the  assistant, 
and  hack  again. 

"  This  gentleman  wants  to  ask  you  about  your  case." 

"  I  thank  you  most  humbly." 

"  I  have  been  told  about  your  case,"  said  Nekhlyiidov, 
walking  to  the  back  of  the  cell  and  stopping  near  the 
dirty,  latticed  window,  "  and  should  hke  to  hear  about  it 
from  you." 

Menshov  also  walked  up  to  the  window  and  began  at 
once  to  talk,  at  first  looking  timidly  at  the  assistant,  but 
then  with  ever  increasing  boldness.  When  the  assistant 
superintendent  left  the  cell  for  the  corridor,  to  give  some 
orders  there,  he  regained  his  courage  altogether.  To 
judge  from  the  language  and  manner,  it  was  the  story  of 
a  most  simple-minded  and  honest  peasant  lad,  and  it 
seemed  especially  out  of  place  to  Nekhlyiidov  to  hear  it 
from  the  mouth  of  a  prisoner  in  prison  garb  and  in  jail. 
Nekhlyiidov  listened  to  him,  and  at  the  same  time 
looked  at  the  low  cot  with  its  straw  mattress,  at  the 
window  with  the  strong  iron  grating,  at  the  dirty,  moist, 
and  daubed  walls,  at  the  pitiable  face  and  form  of  the 
unfortunate,  disgraced  peasant  in  prison  shoes  and  cloak, 
and  he  grew  sadder  and  sadder ;  he  tried  to  make  him- 
self believe  that  what  the  good-hearted  man  was  telling 
him  was  not  true,  —  so  terrible  it  seemed  to  him  to  think 
that  a  man  could  be  seized  for  being  insulted,  and  clad 
in  prison  garb,  and  be  put  in  such  a  horrible  place.  And 
still  more  terrible  it  was  to  think  that  this  truthful  story, 
and  the  peasant's  kindly  face,  should  be  a  deception  and 
a  lie.  According  to  the  story,  the  village  dram-shop- 
keeper soon  after  the  peasant's  marriage  had  alienated 
his  wife's  affections.  He  invoked  the  law.  But  the 
dram-shopkeeper  bribed  the  authorities,  and  he  was 
everywhere  acquitted.  He  took  his  wife  back  by  force, 
but  she  ran  away  the  following  day.     Then  he  came  and 


RESURRECTION  261 

demanded  his  wife.  The  dram-shopkeeper  said  that  she 
was  not  there  (he  had,  however,  seen  her  as  he  came  iu), 
and  told  him  to  leave  at  once.  He  did  not  go.  The 
dram-shopkeeper  and  his  labourer  beat  him  until  blood 
flowed,  and  on  the  following  day  the  dram-shopkeeper's 
house  and  outbuildings  were  consumed  by  fire.  He  and 
his  mother  were  accused  of  incendiarism,  whereas  he  was 
then  at  the  house  of  a  friend. 

"  And  you  have  really  not  committed  the  arson  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  as  much  as  think  of  it,  sir.  He,  the  scoun- 
drel, must  have  done  it  himself.  They  said  that  he  had 
but  lately  insured  his  property.  He  said  that  I  and 
mother  had  threatened  him.  It  is  true,  I  did  call  him 
names,  for  my  heart  gave  way,  but  I  did  not  set  fire  to 
the  house.  I  was  not  near  it  when  the  fire  started.  He 
purposely  did  it  on  the  day  after  I  and  mother  had  been 
there.  He  set  fire  to  it  for  the  sake  of  the  insurance, 
and  then  he  accused  us  of  it." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? " 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,  before  God,  sir.  Be  in 
place  of  my  own  father ! "  he  wanted  to  bow  to  the 
ground,  and  Nekhlyudov  with  difficulty  kept  him  from 
doing  so.  "  Get  my  release,  for  I  am  being  ruined  for  no 
cause  whatsoever,"  he  continued.  Suddenly  his  cheeks 
began  to  twitch,  and  he  burst  into  tears ;  he  rolled  up 
the  sleeve  of  his  cloak  and  began  to  dry  his  eyes  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  dirty  shirt. 

"  Are  you  through  ? "  asked  the  assistant  superintend- 
ent. 

"Yes.  Don't  lose  courage.  I  shall  do  what  I  can," 
said  Nekhlyudov,  and  went  out. 

Menshov  was  standing  in  the  door,  so  that  the  warden 
pushed  it  against  him,  as  he  closed  it.  While  the  warden 
was  locking  the  door,  he  kept  looking  through  the  peep- 
hole. 


LIII. 

Walking  back  through  the  broad  corridor  (it  was 
dinner-time  and  all  the  cells  were  open),  through  crowds 
of  men  dressed  in  light  yellow  cloaks,  short,  wide  trousers, 
and  prison  shoes,  who  were  watching  him  with  curiosity, 
Nekhlyudov  experienced  strange  feelings  of  compassion 
for  the  people  who  were  confined,  and  of  terror  and  dis- 
may before  those  who  had  placed  them  there  and  held 
them  in  restraint,  and  of  a  certain  degree  of  shame  at 
himself  for  looking  so  calmly  at  them. 

In  one  corridor  somebody  rushed  up  to  a  cell  and  there 
struck  the  door  with  his  shoes,  and  its  inmates  rushed 
out  and  barred  Nekhlyudov's  way,  bowing  to  him. 

"  Your  Honour,  I  do  not  know  what  to  name  you, 
please,  try  and  get  a  decision  in  our  case." 

"  I  am  not  an  officer,  I  know  nothing." 

"  It  makes  no  difference.  Tell  somebody,  —  the  author- 
ities," said  he,  with  provocation.  "  We  have  committed 
no  crime,  and  here  we  have  been  nearly  two  months." 

"  How  is  that  ?     Why  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  We  have  simply  been  locked  up.  This  is  the  second 
month  we  have  been  in  jail,  and  we  do  not  know  why." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  the  assistant  superintendent.  "  These 
people  were  arrested  for  not  having  any  passports.  They 
were  to  be  sent  to  their  Government ;  but  the  prison  there 
was  burnt,  so  the  Governmental  office  asked  us  not  to 
send  them.  We  have  despatched  all  the  others  to  their 
respective  Governments,  but  these  we  are  keeping." 

"  Only  for  this  ? "  said  Nekhlyudov,  stopping  at  the 
door. 

262 


KESURRECTION  263 

A  throng  of  some  forty  men,  all  of  them  in  prison 
cloaks,  surrounded  Nekhlyildov  and  the  assistant.  Sev- 
eral voices  began  to  speak  at  once.  The  assistant  stopped 
them : 

"  Let  one  of  you  speak." 

From  the  crowd  stood  out  a  tall,  respectable-looking 
peasant,  of  about  fifty  years  of  age.  He  explained  to 
Nekhlyildov  that  they  had  all  been  taken  up  and  con- 
fined in  prison  for  having  no  passports,  that  is,  they  had 
passports,  but  they  were  about  two  weeks  overdue.  Such 
oversight  happened  every  year,  and  they  usually  were 
left  unmolested  ;  but  this  year  they  had  been  arrested,  and 
this  was  the  second  month  they  had  been  kept  as  criminals. 

"  We  are  aU  stone-masons,  —  all  of  us  of  the  same 
art^l.^  They  say  that  the  Governmental  prison  has 
burnt  down,  but  what  have  we  to  do  with  it  ?  Do  us  the 
favour  in  the  name  of  God  !  " 

Nekhlyildov  listened,  but  he  hardly  understood  what 
the  respectable  old  man  was  telhng  him,  because  all  his 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  large,  dark  gray,  many-legged 
louse  that  was  creeping  through  the  hair  down  the  cheek 
of  the  respectable  stone-mason. 

"Is  it  possible?  Only  for  this?"  said  Nekhlyildov, 
addressing  the  assistant. 

"  Yes,  they  ought  to  be  sent  away  and  restored  to  their 
places  of  residence,"  said  the  assistant. 

The  assistant  had  just  finished  his  sentence,  when  a 
small  man,  also  in  a  prison  cloak,  pushed  himself  forward 
through  the  crowd  and,  strangely  contorting  his  mouth, 
began  to  say  tliat  they  were  tortured  here  for  nothing. 

"  Worse  than  dogs  —  "he  began. 

"Well,  you  had  better  not  say  anything  superfluous. 
Keep  quiet,  or,  you  know  —  " 

"  What  have  I  to  know  ? "  retorted  the  small  man,  in 
desperation.     "  We  are  not  guilty  of  anything." 
*  A  partnership  of  working  men. 


264  RESURRECTION 

"  Shut  up ! "  cried  the  superior  officer,  and  the  small 
man  grew  silent. 

"  What  is  this,  indeed  ? "  Nekhlyiidov  said  to  himself, 
as  he  left  the  cells,  accompanied  by  the  hundreds  of  eyes 
of  those  who  were  looking  out  of  the  doors,  and  of  the 
prisoners  in  the  corridor,  as  though  he  were  driven  through 
two  lines  of  castigating  men. 

"  Is  it  possible  entirely  innocent  people  are  kept  here  ? " 
said  Nekhlyiidov,  upon  coming  out  of  the  corridor. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  But,  of  course,  they  lie  a  great 
deal.  Hearing  them,  one  might  think  that  they  were  all 
innocent,"  said  the  assistant  superintendent. 

"  But  these  are  not  guilty  of  anything." 

"I  shall  admit  that  these  are  not.  But  they  are  all 
a  pretty  bad  lot.  It  is  impossible  to  get  along  with  them, 
without  severity.  There  are  such  desperate  people  amoug 
them,  that  it  wiU  not  do  to  put  a  finger  into  their  mouths. 
Thus,  for  example,  we  were  compelled  yesterday  to  pun- 
ish two  of  them." 

"  How  to  punish  ? "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

"They  were  flogged  with  switches,  according  to  in- 
struction —  " 

"  But  corporal  punishment  has  been  abolished." 

"Not  for  those  who  are  deprived  of  their  rights. 
They  are  subject  to  it." 

Nekhlyiidov  recalled  everything  he  had  seen  the  day  be- 
fore, and  he  understood  that  the  punishment  had  been  in- 
flicted just  at  the  time  that  he  had  been  waiting,  and  he  was 
overcome  with  unusual  force  by  that  mixed  feeling  of  curi- 
osity, pining,  dismay,  and  moral  nausea,  which  was  pass- 
ing into  a  physical  state,  and  by  which  he  had  been 
overcome  on  previous  occasions,  but  never  so  powerfully 
as  now. 

Without  listening  to  the  assistant  superintendent  or 
looking  around  him,  he  hastened  to  leave  the  corridors 
and  to  go  to  the  ofhce.     The  superintendent  was  in  the 


RESURRECTION  265 

corridor,  and,  being  busy  with  something  else,  had  for- 
gotten to  call  Vy^ra  Bogodukhovski.  He  did  not  think 
of  it  until  Nekhlyiidov  entered  the  office. 

"  I  shall  send  for  her  at  once,  while  you,  please,  be 
seated,"  he  said. 


LIV. 

The  office  consisted  of  two  rooms.  In  the  first,  which 
had  a  large,  protruding,  dilapidated  stove  and  two  dirty- 
windows,  stood  in  one  corner  a  black  apparatus  for  the 
measurement  of  the  prisoners'  height,  and  in  the  other 
hung  the  customary  appurtenance  of  a  place  of  torture,  — 
a  large  image  of  Christ.  In  this  first  room  stood  several 
wardens.  In  the  other  room,  some  twenty  men  and 
women  were  sitting  along  the  walls  and  in  groups,  and 
talking  in  an  undertone.  Near  the  window  stood  a 
writing-desk. 

The  superintendent  sat  down  at  the  desk  and  offered 
Nekhlyiidov  a  chair  which  was  standing  near  it.  Nekh- 
lyudov  sat  down  and  began  to  watch  the  people  in  the 
room. 

First  of  all  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  young  man 
in  a  short  jacket,  with  a  pleasant  face,  who,  standing 
before  a  middle-aged  woman  with  black  eyebrows,  was 
speaking  to  her  excitedly  and  gesturing  with  his  hands. 
Near  by  sat  an  old  man  in  blue  spectacles  and  listened 
motionless  to  what  a  young  woman  in  prison  garb  was 
telling  him,  while  he  held  her  hand.  A  boy,  a  student 
of  the  Real-Gymnasium,  with  an  arrested  and  frightened 
expression  on  his  face,  looked  at  the  old  man,  without 
taking  his  eyes  off.  Not  far  from  them,  in  the  corner, 
sat  two  lovers :  she  wore  short  hair  and  had  an  energetic 
face,  —  a  blond,  sweet-faced,  very  young  girl  in  a  fashion- 
able dress ;  he,  with  delicate  features  and  wavy  hair,  was 
a  beautiful  youth  in  a  rubber  blouse.  They  were  seated 
in  the  corner,  whispering  and  evidently  melting  in  love. 

266 


RESURRECTION  267 

Nearest  to  the  table  sat  a  gray-haired  woman,  in  a  black 
(iress,  —  apparently  a  mother :  she  had  her  eyes  riveted 
on  a  consumptive-looking  young  man  in  the  same  kind  of 
a  blouse,  and  wanted  to  say  something  to  him,  but  could 
not  speak  a  word  for  tears :  she  began  and  stopped  again. 
The  young  man  held  a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and, 
evidently  not  knowing  what  to  do,  with  an  angry  face 
now  bent  and  now  crumpled  it.  Near  them  sat  a  plump, 
ruddy,  beautiful  girl,  with  very  bulging  eyes,  in  a  gray 
dress  and  pelerine.  She  was  seated  next  to  the  weeping 
mother  and  tenderly  stroked  her  shoulder.  Everything 
about  that  girl  was  beautiful :  her  large,  white  hands,  her 
wavy,  short-cut  hair,  her  strong  nose  and  lips ;  but  the 
chief  charm  lay  in  her  kindly,  truthful,  sheep-like,  hazel 
eyes.  Her  beautiful  eyes  were  deflected  from  her  mother's 
face  just  as  Nekhlyiidov  entered,  and  met  his  glance. 
But  she  immediately  turned  them  away,  and  began  to  tell 
her  mother  something.  Not  far  from  the  loving  pair  sat 
a  swarthy,  shaggy  man  with  a  gloomy  face,  who  was  in 
an  angry  voice  saying  something  to  a  beardless  visitor, 
resembling  a  Castrate  Sectarian. 

Nekhlyiidov  sat  down  near  the  superintendent  and 
looked  around  him  with  tense  curiosity. 

His  attention  was  distracted  by  a  close-cropped  little 
boy,  who  came  up  to  him  and  in  a  thin  voice  asked  him : 

"  Whom  are  you  waiting  for  ? " 

Nekhlyiidov  was  surprised  at  the  question,  but  upon 
looking  at  the  child  and  seeing  his  serious,  thoughtful  face, 
with  his  attentive,  lively  eyes,  seriously  rephed  to  him 
that  he  was  waiting  for  a  lady  he  knew. 

"  Is  she  your  sister  ? "  asked  the  boy. 

"  No,  not  my  sister,"  Nekhlyiidov  answered,  surprised. 
"  But  with  whom  are  you  here  ? "  he  questioned  the  boy. 

"  I  am  with  mamma.  She  is  a  political  prisoner,"  said 
the  boy. 

"  Mariya  Pavlovna,  take  Kolya,"  said  the  superintend- 


268  RESUKRECTION 

eut,  apparently  finding  Nekblyiidov's  conversation  with 
the  boy  to  be  illegal. 

Mai'iya  Pavlovna,  that  same  beautiful  girl  with  the 
sheep-like  eyes,  who  had  attracted  Nekblyiidov's  atten- 
tion, arose  to  her  full,  tall  stature,  and  with  a  strong, 
broad,  almost  manly  gait,  walked  over  to  Nekblyiidov 
and  the  child. 

"  Has  he  been  asking  you  who  you  are  ? "  she  asked 
Neklilyiidov,  slightly  smiling  and  trustfully  looking  iuto 
his  eyes  in  such  a  simple  manner  as  though  there  could 
be  no  doubt  but  that  she  always  had  been,  now  was,  and 
always  ought  to  be  in  the  simplest  and  kindliest  fraternal 
relations  with  everybody. 

"  He  wants  to  know  everytliing,"  she  said,  smihng  in 
the  boy's  face  with  such  a  kind,  sweet  smile  that  both  the 
boy  and  Nekblyiidov  smiled  at  her  smile. 

"  Yes,  he  asked  me  whom  I  came  to  see." 

"  Mariya  Pavlovna,  it  is  not  allowed  to  speak  with 
strangers.     You  know  that,"  said  the  superintendent. 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  she  said,  and,  with  her  large 
white  hand  taking  hold  of  Kolya's  tiny  hand,  while  he 
did  not  take  his  eyes  off  her  face,  returned  to  the  mother 
of  the  consumptive  man. 

"  Whose  boy  is  this  ?  "  Nekhlyudov  asked  the  super- 
intendent. 

"  The  son  of  a  political  prisoner.  He  was  born  here 
in  the  prison,"  said  the  superintendent,  with  a  certain 
satisfaction,  as  though  displaying  a  rarity  of  his  institu- 
tion. 

"  Is  it  possible  ? " 

"  Now  he  and  his  mother  are  leaving  for  Siberia." 

"  And  this  girl  ? " 

"  I  can't  answer  you,"  said  the  superintendent,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.     "  Here  is  Vy^ra  Bogodiikhovski," 


LV. 

Theough  the  back  door,  with  a  nervous  gait,  entered 
short-haired,  haggard,  sallow  little  Vyera  Efr^movna,  with 
her  immense,  kindly  eyes. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming,"  she  said,  pressing  Nekhlyu- 
dov's  hand.    "  Did  you  remember  me  ?     Let  us  sit  down." 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  thus." 

"  Oh,  I  feel  so  happy,  so  happy,  that  I  do  not  even 
wish  for  anything  better,"  said  Vy^ra  Efr^movua,  as 
always,  looking  with  her  immense,  kindly,  round  eyes 
at  Nekhlyiidov,  and  turning  her  yellow,  dreadfully  tliin, 
and  venous  neck,  which  stuck  out  from  the  miserable- 
looking,  crumpled,  and  dirty  collar  of  her  bodice. 

Nekhlyiidov  asked  her  how  she  had  gotten  into  such  a 
plight.  She  told  him  with  great  animation  about  her 
case.  Her  speech  was  interlarded  with  foreign  words 
about  the  propaganda,  about  disorganization,  about  groups 
and  sections  and  sub-sections,  of  which  she  was  appar- 
ently quite  sure  everybody  knew,  whereas  Nekhlyiidov 
had  never  heard  of  them  before. 

She  spoke  to  him,  evidently  fully  convinced  that  it  was 
very  interesting  and  agreeable  for  him  to  hear  all  the 
secrets  of  the  popular  cause.  But  Nekhlyiidov  looked  at 
her  miserable  neck  and  at  her  scanty  dishevelled  hair, 
and  wondered  why  she  was  doing  all  that  and  telling 
him  about  it.  He  pitied  her,  but  in  an  entirely  differ- 
ent manner  from  that  in  which  he  pitied  peasant  Men- 
shov,  who  was  locked  up  in  a  stinking  prison  for  no  cause 
whatsoever.     He  pitied  her  more  especially  on  account  of 

269 


270  RESURRECTION 

the  evident  confusion  which  existed  in  her  mind.  She 
obviously  considered  herself  a  heroine,  ready  to  sacrifice 
her  hfe  for  the  success  of  her  cause,  and  yet  she  would 
have  found  it  hard  to  explain  what  her  cause  consisted  in, 
and  what  its  success  would  be. 

The  affair  of  which  Vy^ra  Efr^movna  wished  to  speak 
to  Nekhlyiidov  was  this :  her  companion,  Shustova,  who 
did  not  even  belong  to  her  sub-group,  as  she  expressed 
herself,  had  been  arrested  five  mouths  before  at  the  same 
time  with  her,  and  had  been  confined  in  the  Petropavlovsk 
fortress  because  at  her  room  books  and  papers  which  had 
been  given  into  her  safe-keeping  had  been  found.  Vyera 
Efr^movna  considered  herself  in  part  guilty  of  Shustova's 
incarceration,  and  so  she  begged  Nekhlyiidov,  who  had 
influence,  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to  obtain  her 
release.  The  other  thing  for  which  she  asked  him  was 
that  he  should  obtain  a  permission  for  Gur^vich,  who  was 
confined  in  the  Petropavlovsk  fortress,  to  see  his  parents 
and  provide  himself  with  scientific  books,  which  he  needed 
for  his  learned  labours. 

Nekhlyiidov  promised  he  would  endeavour  to  do  all  in 
his  power,  as  soon  as  he  should  be  in  St.  Petersburg, 

Vy^ra  Efr^movna  told  her  story  as  follows  :  upon  fin- 
ishing a  course  in  midwifery,  she  had  fallen  in  with  the 
party  of  the  "  Popular  Will,"  and  worked  with  them.  At 
first  everything  went  well :  they  wrote  proclamations  and 
made  propaganda  at  factories ;  later,  a  prominent  mem- 
ber was  seized ;  documents  were  discovered,  and  they 
began  to  arrest  everybody. 

"  I  was  taken,  too,  and  now  we  are  being  deported  —  " 
she  finished  her  story.  "  P>ut  that  is  notliing.  I  feel  in 
excellent  spirits,  —  in  Olympic  transport,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing a  pitiable  smile. 

Nekhlyiidov  asked  about  the  girl  with  the  sheep-hke 
eyes.  Vy^ra  Efrs^movna  told  him  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  general,  that  she  had  long  been  a  member 


RESURRECTION  271 

of  the  revolutionary  party,  and  that  she  was  arrested  for 
claiming  to  have  shot  a  gendarme. 

She  had  been  hving  in  conspirators' •  quarters,  where 
there  was  a  typographic  machine.  When  they  were 
searched  at  night,  the  inmates  of  the  quarters  decided  to 
defend  themselves,  whereupon  they  put  out  the  lights 
and  began  to  destroy  the  compromising  matter.  The 
police  forced  an  entrance,  when  one  of  the  conspirators 
shot  and  mortally  wounded  a  gendarme.  At  the  inquest 
she  said  that  she  had  fired  the  shot,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  she  had  never  held  a  pistol  in  her  hand  and 
would  not  have  killed  a  spider.  And  thus  it  remained. 
Now  she  was  being  deported  to  hard  labour. 

"  An  altruistic,  a  good  soul,"  Vy^ra  Efr^movna  said, 
approvingly. 

The  third  thing  that  Vy^ra  Efr^movna  wanted  to  talk 
about  was  concerning  Maslova.  She  knew,  as  everybody 
else  in  the  prison  knew,  Maslova's  history  and  Nekhlyu- 
dov's  relations  with  her,  and  advised  him  to  try  to  obtain 
her  transfer  to  the  pohtical  prisoners,  or  to  a  position,  at 
least,  as  attendant  in  the  hospital,  where  now  a  large 
number  of  sick  people  were  confined  and  workers  were 
needed. 

Nekhlyiidov  thanked  her  for  her  advice  and  told  her 
that  he  would  try  and  make  use  of  it. 


LVI. 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  superin- 
tendent, who  arose  and  announced  that  the  time  for  the 
interviews  was  up,  and  that  people  had  to  leave.  Nekh- 
lyiidov  got  up,  bade  Vy^ra  Efrt^movna  good-bye,  and 
walked  over  to  the  door,  where  he  stopped  to  see  what 
was  going  on  before  him. 

"  Gentlemen,  it  is  time,"  said  the  superintendent,  now 
rising,  and  now  sitting  down  again. 

The  superintendent's  demand  only  evoked  a  greater 
animation  in  all  those  who  were  in  the  room,  both  pris- 
oners and  visitors,  but  nobody  even  thought  of  leaving. 
Some  remained  sitting  and  conversing.  Others  began  to 
say  farewell  and  to  weep.  The  leave-taking  of  the  mother 
from  her  consumptive  son  was  especially  touching.  The 
young  man  kept  twisting  a  piece  of  paper,  and  his  face 
grew  ever  more  stern,  so  great  was  the  effort  which  he 
was  making  not  to  be  infected  by  his  mother's  feeling. 
But  the  mother,  hearing  that  it  was  time  to  leave,  lay  on 
his  shoulder  and  sobbed,  snuffling  with  her  nose.  The 
girl  with  the  sheep-like  eyes  —  Nekhlyudov  involuntarily 
followed  her  —  stood  before  the  weeping  mother  and  was 
telling  her  some  consoling  words.  The  old  man  in  the 
blue  spectacles  was  standing  and  holding  his  daughter's 
hand,  nodding  his  head  to  what  she  was  saying.  The 
young  lovers  arose  and,  holding  hands,  were  long  looking 
into  each  others'  eyes. 

"  These  alone  are  happy,"  pointing  to  the  lovers,  said 
the  young  man  in  the  short  jacket,  who  was  standing  near 

272 


RESURRECTION  273 

Nekhlyudov  and  like  him  watching  those  who  were 
taking  leave. 

Being  conscious  of  the  looks  of  Nekhlyudov  and  of  the 
young  man,  the  lovers,  —  the  young  man  in  the  rubber 
blouse  and  the  blond  sweet-faced  girl,  —  extended  their 
linked  hands,  bent  back,  and  began  to  circle  around, 
while  laughing. 

"  They  will  be  married  this  evening,  here  in  the  jail, 
and  then  she  will  go  with  him  to  Siberia,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  A  hard  labour  convict.  Though  they  are  making 
merry  now,  it  is  too  painful  to  hsten,"  added  the  young 
man  in  the  jacket,  hearing  the  sobs  of  the  consumptive 
man's  mother. 

"  Gentlemen !  Please,  please.  Do  not  compel  me  to 
take  severe  measures,"  said  the  superintendent,  repeating 
one  and  the  same  thing  several  times.  "  Please,  please 
now,"  he  said,  in  a  feeble  and  undecided  voice.  "  How  is 
this  ?  Time  has  long  been  up.  This  won't  do.  I  am 
telling  you  for  the  last  time,"  he  repeated,  reluctantly, 
now  puffing,  and  now  putting  out  his  Maryland  cigarette. 
It  was  evident  that,  however  artful  and  old  and  habitual 
the  proofs  were  which  permitted  people  to  do  wrong  to 
others,  without  feeling  themselves  responsible  for  it,  the 
superintendent  could  not  help  noticing  that  he  was  one 
of  the  causes  of  that  sorrow  which  was  manifested  in 
this  room ;  and  this  obviously  weighed  heavily  upon 
him. 

Finally  the  prisoners  and  visitors  began  to  depart : 
some  through  the  inner,  others  through  the  outer  door. 
The  men  in  the  rubber  blouses,  and  the  consumptive  man, 
and  the  swarthy  and  •  shaggy  man  passed  out ;  and  then 
Mariya  Pavlovna,  with  the  boy  who  had  been  born  in 
the  prison. 

The  visitors,  too,  began  to  leave.     With  heavy  tread  the 


274  RESURKECTION 

old  man  in  the  blue  spectacles  went  out,  and  Nekhlyiidov 
followed  him. 

"Yes,  those  are  marvellous  conditions,"  said  the  talka- 
tive young  man,  as  though  continuing  the  interrupted 
conversation,  while  he  descended  the  staircase  with  Nekh- 
lyiidov. "  Luckily,  the  captaiu  is  a  good  man,  and  does 
not  stick  to  rules.  At  least  they  get  a  chance  to  talk  to 
each  other  and  ease  their  souls." 

When  Nekhlyudov,  conversing  with  Medyntsev,  —  so 
the  talkative  young  man  introduced  himself  to  him,  — 
reached  the  vestibule,  the  superintendent,  with  a  wearied 
face,  accosted  him. 

"  If  you  wish  to  see  Maslova,  please  come  to-morrow," 
he  said,  apparently  wishing  to  be  kind  to  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  hastening  to  get  out. 

Terrible,  it  was  evident,  was  the  innocent  suffering  of 
Meushdv,  and  not  so  much  the  physical  suffering  as  the 
dismay,  the  distrust  of  goodness  and  of  God,  which  he 
must  experience,  seeing  the  cruelty  of  men  who  tor- 
mented him  without  cause ;  terrible  were  the  disgrace 
and  torments  imposed  upon  the  hundreds  of  people, 
innocent  of  crime,  simply  because  their  papers  were  not 
properly  written ;  terrible  were  these  befogged  wardens, 
who  were  occupied  with  torturing  their  fellow  men  and 
were  convinced  that  they  were  doing  a  good  and  important 
work.  But  more  terrible  yet  was  that  aging  and  enfeebled, 
kind  superintendent,  who  had  to  separate  mother  from 
son,  father  from  daughter,  —  people  who  were  just  like 
him  and  his  children. 

"  What  is  this  for  ? "  Nekhlyudov  asked  himself,  ex- 
periencing more  than  ever  that  sensation  of  moral  nausea, 
passing  into  a  physical  feeling,  which  overcame  him  in 
prison,  and  finding  no  answer. 


LVIL 

On  the  following  day  Nekhlyiidov  went  to  the  lawyer, 
to  whom  he  communicated  Menshov's  affair,  asking  him  to 
take  the  defence.  The  lawyer  listened  to  him  and  said 
that  he  would  look  into  the  case,  and  if  everythiug  was  as 
Nekhlyiidov  told  him,  which  was  very  probable,  he  would 
take  the  defence  without  any  remuneratiou.  Nekhlyudov 
also  told  him  of  the  130  men  who  were  held  there  by 
misunderstanding,  and  asked  him  on  whom  the  matter 
depended,  and  who  was  to  blame  for  it.  The  lawyer 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  evidently  wishing  to  give  an 
exact  answer. 

"  Who  is  to  blame  ?  Nobody,"  he  said,  with  deter- 
mination. "  Ask  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and  he  will 
tell  you  that  the  governor  is  to  blame ;  ask  the  governor, 
and  he  will  tell  you  that  it  is  the  prosecuting  attorney. 
Nobody  is  to  blame." 

"  I  will  go  at  once  to  Masl^nnikov  and  tell  him." 

"  Well,  that  is  useless,"  the  lawyer  retorted,  smihng. 
"  He  is  such  a  — -  he  is  not  a  relative  or  friend  of  yours  ? 
—  such  a,  with  your  permission,  such  a  stick  and,  at  the 
same  time,  such  a  cunning  beast." 

Eecalling  what  Masl^nnikov  had  said  about  the  lawyer, 
he  did  not  reply  ;  bidding  him  good-bye,  he  drove  to  Mas- 
l^nnikov's  house. 

Nekhlvudov  had  to  ask  Masl^nnikov  for  two  thinss : 
for  Maslova's  transfer  to  the  hospital,  and  for  the  130 
passportless  people  who  were  innocently  confined  in  jail. 
No  matter  how  hard  it  was  for  him  to  ask  from  a  man 

276 


276  RESURRECTION 

whom  he  did  not  respect,  it  was  the  only  means  of  reach- 
ing his  aim,  and  he  had  to  employ  it. 

As  he  drove  up  to  Maslt^nnikov's  house,  he  saw  several 
carriages  at  the  entrance :  there  were  buggies,  calashes 
and  barouches,  and  he  recalled  that  this  was  the  reception- 
day  of  Masldnnikov's  wife,  to  which  Masl6nnikov  had 
asked  him  to  come.  As  Nekhlyiidov  approached  the 
house,  he  saw  a  barouche  at  the  entrance,  and  a  lackey, 
in  a  hat  with  a  cockade  and  in  a  pelerine,  helping  a  lady 
from  the  threshold  of  the  porch  into  it,  while  she  caught 
the  train  of  her  dress  in  her  arm  and  displayed  her  black 
thin  ankles  in  low  shoes.  Among  the  other  carriages 
which  were  standing  there,  he  recognized  the  covered 
landau  of  the  Korchagins.  The  gray-haired,  ruddy-faced 
coachman  respectfully  and  politely  took  off  his  hat,  as 
to  a  well-known  gentleman.  Nekhlyudov  had  not  yet 
finished  asking  the  porter  where  Mikhail  Ivanovich  (Mas- 
lennikov)  was,  when  he  appeared  on  the  carpeted  staircase, 
seeing  off  a  very  distinguished  guest,  such  as  he  accom- 
panied not  only  to  the  landing,  but  way  down.  The  very 
distinguished  military  guest  was,  in  descending,  telling  in 
French  about  the  lottery  and  ball  for  the  benefit  of  the 
asylums,  which  was  being  planned  in  the  city,  expressing 
his  opinion  that  this  was  a  good  occupation  for  women : 
"  They  are  happy,  and  money  is  collected  ! 

"  Qitelles  s'amusent  ct  que  le  hon  .Dieu  les  henisse.  Ah, 
Nekhlyudov,  good  day.  What  makes  you  so  scarce  ? "  he 
greeted  Nekhlyudov.  "  Allez  pi^esenter  vous  devoirs  h  ma- 
daifne.  The  Korchagins  are  here.  Et  Nadine  Buhsliev- 
den.  Toutes  les  jolies  femmes  de  la  ville,"  he  said,  placing 
and  slightly  raising  his  military  shoulders  under  the  over- 
coat with  the  superb  golden  galloons,  which  was  handed 
him  by  the  lackey.  "  Au  revoir,  mon  cher."  He  pressed 
Masl^nnikov's  hand. 

"  Come  up-stairs.  How  glad  I  am,"  Masl(?nnikov  spoke 
excitedly,  linking  his  hand  in  Nekhlyudov's  arm  and,  in 


KESURRECTION  277 

spite  of  his  corpulence,  rapidly  drawing  him  up-stairs. 
Masl^nuikov  was  in  an  extremely  joyful  agitation,  the 
cause  of  which  was  the  attention  which  had  been  bestowed 
upon  him  by  the  distinguished  person.  Every  such  atten- 
tion caused  Maslennikov  the  same  rapture  that  is  produced 
in  a  docile  little  dog,  whenever  its  master  strokes,  pats, 
and  scratches  it  behind  its  ears.  It  wags  its  tail,  crouches, 
winds  about,  lays  down  its  ears,  and  insanely  runs  about 
in  circles.  Maslennikov  was  ready  to  do  the  same.  He 
did  not  notice  Nekhlyiidov's  serious  countenance,  did  not 
listen  to  him,  and  kept  dragging  him  to  the  drawing-room, 
so  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  refusing,  and  Nekhlyii- 
dov  went  with  him.  "  Business  afterward ;  I  shall  do 
anything  you  please,"  said  Maslennikov,  crossing  the 
parlour  with  Nekhlyiidov.  "Announce  to  Mrs.  General 
MasMnnikov  that  Prince  Nekhlyiidov  is  here,"  he  said  to 
a  lackey,  during  his  walk.  The  lackey  moved  forward  at 
an  amble  and  passed  beyond  them.  "  Votis  n'avez  qu'd, 
ordonner.  But  you  must  by  all  means  see  my  wife.  I 
caught  it  last  time  for  not  bringing  you  to  her." 

The  lackey  had  announced  them,  when  they  entered, 
and  Anna  Ignatevna,  the  vice-governor's  wife,  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral, as  she  called  herself,  turned  to  Nekhlyiidov,  with  a 
beaming  smile,  from  amidst  the  bonnets  and  heads  of 
those  who  surrounded  her  at  the  divan.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  drawing-room,  at  a  table  with  tea,  ladies  were 
sitting,  and  men,  in  military  and  civil  attire,  were  stand- 
ing, and  from  there  was  heard  the  uninterrupted  chatter 
of  masculine  and  feminine  voices. 

"  Enfiii !  Have  you  given  us  up  ?  Have  we  offended 
you  in  any  way  ? " 

With  such  words,  that  presupposed  an  intimacy  be- 
tween her  and  Nekhlyiidov,  although  it  had  never  existed 
between  them,  Anna  Ignatevna  met  the  newcomer. 

"  Are  you  acquainted  ?  Are  you  ?  Madame  Byelav- 
ski,  Mikhail  Ivanovich  Chernov.     Sit  down  near  me- 


278  EESUKRECTIOIS" 

"  Missj^,  venez  done  h  tiotre  table.  On  vous  apportera 
votre  the  —  And  you  —  "  she  addressed  an  officer  who 
was  talking  to  Missy,  apparently  having  forgotten  his 
name,  "please,  come  here.  Will  you  have  some  tea, 
prince  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  admit  it  for  a  minute,  not  for  a  minute,  — 
she  simply  did  not  love  him,"  said  a  feminine  voice. 

"  But  she  did  love  cakes." 

"  Eternally  those  stupid  jokes,"  laughingly  interposed 
another  lady,  shining  in  her  silk,  gold,  and  precious 
stones. 

"  G'est  excellent,  —  these  waflSes,  and  so  light.  Let  me 
have  some  more  ! " 

"  How  soon  shall  you  leave  ?  *' 

"  To-day  is  my  last  day.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I 
have  come." 

"  The  spring  is  so  charming,  and  it  is  so  nice  now  in 
the  country  ! " 

Missy,  in  a  hat  and  in  a  dark  striped  dress,  which 
clasped  her  slender  waist  without  any  folds,  as  though 
she  had  been  born  in  it,  was  very  pretty.  She  blushed 
when  she  saw  Nekhlyudov. 

"  I  thought  that  you  had  left,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  Almost,"  said  Nekhlyudov.  "  I  have  been  kept  back 
by  business.     I  have  even  come  here  on  business." 

"  Come  to  see  mamma.  She  is  very  anxious  to  see 
you,"  she  said,  and,  being  conscious  of  telling  an  untruth, 
and  of  his  knowing  it,  she  blushed  even  more. 

"  I  shall  hardly  have  the  time,"  gloomily  replied  Nekh- 
lyiidov,  trying  to  appear  as  though  he  had  not  noticed 
her  blush. 

Missy  frowned  angrily,  shrugged  her  shoulder,  and 
turned  to  the  elegant  officer,  who  seized  the  empty  cup 
out  of  her  hand,  and,  catching  with  his  sword  in  the 
chairs,  gallantly  carried  it  to  another  table. 

"  You  must  contribute  something  for  the  home." 


RESURRECTION  279 

"T  do  not  refuse,  but  want  to  keep  all  my  liberality 
until  the  lottery.  There  I  will  show  up  in  all  my 
strength." 

"  Look  out,"  was  heard  a  voice,  accompanied  by  a 
manifestly  feigned  laughter. 

The  reception-day  was  brilliant,  and  Anna  Ignatevna 
was  in  raptures. 

"  Mika  has  told  me  that  you  are  busy  about  the 
prisons.  I  understand  that,"  she  said  to  Nekhlyudov. 
"  Mika  "  (that  was  her  stout  husband,  Masl^nnikov)  "  may 
have  other  faults,  but  you  know  how  good  he  is.  All 
these  unfortunate  prisoners  are  his  children.  He  does 
not  look  at  them  in  any  other  light.  II  est  d'une 
hontS  —  " 

She  stopped,  being  unable  to  find  words  which  would 
have  expressed  the  bo7ite  of  that  husband  of  hers,  by 
whose  order  men  were  flogged ;  she  immediately  turned, 
smiling,  to  a  wrinkled  old  woman  in  lilac  ribbons,  who 
had  just  entered. 

Having  conversed  as  much  as  was  necessary,  and  as 
insipidly  as  was  necessary,  in  order  not  to  violate  the 
proprieties..  Nekhlyudov  arose  and  walked  over  to  Mas- 
l^nnikov. 

"  Can  you  listen  to  me  now  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !     What  is  it  ?     Come  this  way  ! " 

They  went  into  a  small  Japanese  cabinet,  and  sat 
down  by  the  window. 


LVIII. 

"  Well,  je  suis  tt  vous.  Do  you  want  to  smoke  ?  Only 
wait,  —  we  must  make  no  dirt  Iiere,"  he  said,  bringing 
the  ash-tray.     "  Well  ?  " 

"  I  have  two  things  to  talk  about." 

"  Indeed  ? " 

Masleuuikov's  face  became  gloomy  and  sad.  All  the 
traces  of  the  excitement  of  the  little  dog,  whom  its  mas- 
ter has  scratched  behind  its  ear,  suddenly  disappeared. 
From  the  drawing-room  were  borne  voices.  A  woman's 
voice  said  :  "  Jamais,  jamais  je  ne  croirai,"  and  another, 
from  the  other  end,  a  man's  voice,  was  telling  something, 
repeating  all  the  time :  "  La  Comtesse  Voronzoff, "  and 
"  Victor  Apraksine."  From  a  third  side  was  heard  only 
the  rumble  of  voices  and  laughter.  Masl^nnikov  hstened 
to  what  was  going  on  in  the  drawing-room,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  what  Nekhlyudov  was  saying. 

"  I  have  come  again  in  behalf  of  that  woman,"  said 
Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Yes,  the  one  who  is  sentenced,  but  innocent.  I  know, 
I  know." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  y  ou  to  have  her  transferred  as  a 
servant  to  the  hospital.  I  was  told  that  that  could  be 
done." 

Masl^nnikov  compressed  his  lips  and  meditated. 

"Hardly,"  he  said.  "Still,  I  shall  take  it  under  ad- 
visement, and  shall  wire  you  to-morrow  al)out  it." 

"  I  was  told  that  there  were  many  sick  people  there, 

and  that  help  is  needed." 

280 


RESURKECTION  281 

"All  right,  all  right.  I  shall  let  you  know  in  any 
case." 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

In  the  drawing-room  was  heard  a  general,  and  even 
natural,  laugh. 

"Victor  is  doing  that,"  said  Masl^nnikov.  "He  is 
remarkably  clever  when  he  is  in  his  proper  mood." 

"Another  thing,"  said  Nekhlyiidov.  "There  are  130 
people  in  the  jail ;  they  have  been  kept  there  for  more 
than  a  month  for  nothing  else  but  because  their  pass- 
ports are  overdue." 

He  told  what  the  cause  of  their  detention  was. 

"  How  did  you  find  out  about  that  ?  "  asked  MasMnni- 
kov,  and  his  face  suddenly  expressed  unrest  and  dissatis- 
faction. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  one  who  is  awaiting  trial,  when 
I  was  surrounded  in  the  corridor  by  these  men,  who 
asked  me  —  " 

"  To  whom  that  is  awaiting  trial  did  you  go  ? " 

"  To  a  peasant  who  is  innocently  accused,  and  for  whom 
I  have  employed  counsel.  But  that  is  another  matter. 
Is  it  possible  that  these  men  are  kept  in  prison  for  no  other 
reason  than  that  then  passports  are  overdue  and  —  " 

"  That  is  the  prosecuting  attorney's  affair,"  Masl^unikov 
angrily  interrupted  Nekhlyudov.  "You  say  that  trials 
are  speedy  and  just !  It  is  the  duty  of  the  prosecuting 
attorney's  assistant  to  visit  the  jaU  and  to  find  out  whether 
the  prisoners  are  detained  there  lawfully.  But  they  do 
nothing  but  play  vint." 

"  So  you  can't  do  anything  ? "  gloomily  said  Nekhlyudov, 
thinking  of  what  the  lawyer  had  said  about  the  govern- 
or's throwing  it  on  the  prosecuting  attorney's  shoulders. 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  it.  I  will  institute  an  investigation  at 
once." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  her.  (Test  un  sonffre  douleur" 
was  heard  the  voice  of    a  woman  in  the  drawing-room, 


282  RESURRECTION 

who,  apparently,  was  quite  indifferent  to  what  she  was 
saying. 

"  So  much  the  better,  I  will  take  this  one,"  was  heard 
from  the  other  side  the  playful  voice  of  a  man  and  the 
playful  laughter  of  a  woman,  who  was  refusing  something. 

"  No,  no,  for  nothing  in  the  world,"  said  a  feminine 
voice. 

"  I  will  do  it  all,"  repeated  Maslennikov,  putting  out 
his  cigarette  with  his  white  hand  with  the  turquoise  ring. 
"  And  now  let  us  go  to  the  ladies." 

"Another  thing,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  without  entering 
the  drawing-room,  but  stopping  at  the  door,  "  I  was  told 
that  some  men  had  received  corporal  punishment  in  jail 
yesterday.     Is  that  true  ?  " 

Masl(^nuikov  grew  red  in  his  face. 

"  Ah,  that,  too  ?  No,  mon  cJier,  you  must  positively  not 
be  admitted ;  you  meddle  with  everything.  Come,  come, 
Annette  is  calling  us,"  he  said,  taking  him  under  his  arm, 
and  expressing  the  same  kind  of  excitement  as  after  the 
attention  of  the  distinguished  person,  but  this  time  it  was 
not  an  excitement  of  joy,  but  of  trepidation. 

Nekhlyildov  tore  his  arm  away  from  him,  and,  without 
bidding  any  one  good-bye  or  saying  a  word,  with  a  melan- 
choly expression  in  his  face,  crossed  the  drawing-room 
and  the  parlour,  and  went  past  the  officious  lackeys, 
through  the  antechamber,  and  out  iuto  the  street. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  What  have  you  done 
to  him  ?  "  Annette  asked  her  husband. 

"  This  is  h  la  franfaise"  somebody  remarked. 

"  Not  at  all  (i  la  frangaisc  ;  it  is  it  la  zoulou" 

"  Yes,  he  has  always  been  like  that." 

Somebody  arose  ;  somebody  arrived  ;  and  the  twittering 
went  on  as  before  :  the  company  used  the  incident  with 
Nekhlyudov  as  a  convenient  subject  for  conversation  on 
the  present  jou7^  fixe. 

On  the  day  following  his  visit  to  Masl^nnikov's  house. 


Hesukrection  283 

Nekhlyudov  received  from  him,  on  heavy,  smooth  paper, 
with  a  coat  of  arms  and  seals,  a  letter  in  a  magnificent, 
firm  handwriting,  informing  liim  that  he  had  written  to 
the  hospital  physician  about  Maslova's  transfer,  and  that, 
in  all  likehhood,  his  wish  would  be  fulfilled.  It  con- 
cluded with  "  Your  loving  elder  comrade,"  and  below  the 
signature, "  MasMnnikov,"  was  made  a  wonderfully  artistic, 
large,  and  firm  flourish. 

"  Fool !  "  Nekhlyudov  could  not  restrain  himself  from 
saying,  especially  because  in  the  word  "  comrade  "  he  felt 
that  Maslennikov  condescended  to  him ;  that  is,  he  saw 
that,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  was  executing  a 
morally  exceedingly  dirty  and  disgraceful  function,  he 
considered  himself  a  very  important  man,  and  thought,  if 
not  to  flatter,  at  least  to  show  that  he  was  not  overproud 
of  his  majesty,  iu  that  he  called  himself  his  comrade. 


LIX. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  deep-rooted  and  wide-spread 
superstitions  that  every  man  has  his  well-defined  proper- 
ties, that  a  man  is  good  or  bad,  clever  or  stupid,  energetic 
or  apathetic,  and  so  forth.  People  are  not  such.  We 
may  say  of  a  man  that  he  is  oftener  good  than  bad,  oftener 
clever  than  stupid,  ofteuer  energetic  than  apathetic,  and 
vice  versa ;  but  it  would  be  wrong  to  say  of  one  man  that 
he  is  good  or  clever,  and  of  another,  that  he  is  bad  or 
stupid.  Yet  we  always  classify  people  in  this  manner. 
This  is  wrong.  Men  are  like  rivers  :  the  water  is  the 
same  in  all ;  but  every  river  is  either  narrow,  or  swift,  or 
broad,  or  still,  or  clean,  or  cold,  or  turbid,  or  warm.  Even 
thus  men  are.  Each  man  carries  within  him  the  germs  of 
all  human  qualities,  and  now  manifests  some  of  these,  and 
now  others,  and  frequently  becomes  unlike  himself,  and 
yet  remains  one  and  the  same.  With  some  people  these 
changes  are  extremely  sudden.  To  this  category  Nekhlyii- 
dov  belonged.  Changes  took  place  within  him  both  from 
physical  and  spiritual  causes.  Just  such  a  change  had 
occurred  in  him  now. 

That   sensation    of    solemnity  and   joy  of  renovation, 

which  he  had   experienced  after  the  trial,  and  after  the 

first  interview  with  Katyusha,  had  completely  disappeared, 

and  had  after  the  last  meeting  given  way  to  terror,  even 

disgust  for  her.     He  had  decided  not  to  leave  her,  not  to 

change   his   determination   of   marrying  her,  if  only  she 

would  wish  it,  liut  the  thought  of  it  was  hard  and  painful 

to  him. 

284 


RESURRECTION  285 

On  the  day  after  his  visit  to  Maslt^nnikov's  house,  he 
again  drove  to  the  prison,  in  order  to  see  her. 

The  superintendent  granted  him  an  interview,  but  not 
in  the  office,  and  not  in  the  lawyer's  room,  but  in  the 
women's  visiting-hall.  Notwithstanding  his  kind-heart- 
edness, the  superintendent  was  more  reserved  than  before 
with  Nekhlyiidov ;  obviously  his  talks  with  Maslennikov 
had  resulted  in  an  instruction  to  use  greater  precaution 
with  that  visitor. 

"  You  may  see  her,"  he  said,  "  only  in  regard  to  the 
money,  please,  do  as  I  have  asked  you.  As  to  the 
transfer  to  the  hospital,  as  his  Excellency  had  written,  — 
that  was  possible,  and  the  physician  was  wilHug.  Only 
she  herself  does  not  want  to  go.  She  says :  '  I  have  no 
desire  to  carry  out  the  vessels  of  those  nasty  fellows.' 
Prince,  they  are  a  dreadful  lot,"  he  added. 

Nekhlyiidov  did  not  reply,  and  asked  for  the  interview. 
The  superintendent  sent  a  warden  after  her,  and  Nekh- 
lyiidov went  with  him  to  the  empty  visiting-hall  of  the 
women. 

Maslova  was  already  there.  She  came  out  from  behind 
the  screen,  quiet  and  timid.  She  went  up  close  to  Nekhlyii- 
dov, and,  glancing  beyond  him,  said  : 

"  Forgive  me,  Dmitri  Ivanovich  !  I  said  many  bad 
things  the  other  day." 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  forgive  you  — "  Nekhlyiidov 
began. 

"  But  still,  I  beg  you,  leave  me  alone,"  she  added,  and 
in  the  dreadfully  squinting  eyes  with  which  she  looked  at 
him  Nekhlyiidov  again  read  a  strained  and  evil  ex- 
pression. 

"  Why  should  I  leave  you  ? " 

"  Just  do  !  " 

"  Why  so  ? " 

She  again  cast  the  same  malicious  glance  at  him,  as  he 
thought. 


286  RESURRECTION 

"  It  is  like  this,"  she  said.  "  You  leave  me,  —  I  tell 
you  the  truth.  I  can't.  Leave  me  altogether,"  she  said, 
with  quivering  lips,  growing  silent.  "  I  am  telhng  you 
the  truth.     I  shall  prefer  hanging  myself." 

Nekhlyildov  felt  that  in  that  refusal  of  hers  there  was 
hatred  for  him,  and  unforgiven  offence,  but  at  the  same 
time  something  else,  —  something  good  and  significant. 
This  confirmation  of  her  former  refusal,  made  while  in  a 
calm  state,  at  once  destroyed  all  doubts  in  Nekhlyiidov's 
soul,  and  brought  him  back  to  his  former  serious  solem- 
nity and  contrite  condition  in  relation  to  Katyusha, 

"  Katyusha,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  so  I  tell  you 
now,"  he  said,  with  especial  seriousness.  "  I  ask  you  to 
marry  me.  But  if  you  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  and  as  long 
as  you  do  not  wish,  I  shall,  as  before,  be  in  the  place 
where  you  are,  and  I  will  travel  to  the  place  to  which  you 
will  be  deported." 

"  That  is  your  affair,  and  I  sha'n't  say  anything  more 
about  this,"  she  said,  and  again  her  Hps  began  to 
tremble. 

He,  too,  was  silent,  feehng  that  he  had  not  the  strength 
to  speak. 

"  I  am  now  going  to  the  country,  and  then  to  St.  Peters- 
burg," he  said,  regaining  at  last  his  composure.  "  I  shall 
there  look  after  your  —  after  our  affair,  and  if  God  grants 
it,  the  sentence  shall  be  reversed." 

"  If  they  do  not  reverse  it,  it  will  be  all  the  same.  I 
deserve  it  for  something  else,  if  not  for  this,"  she  said,  and 
he  saw  what  a  great  effort  she  was  making  to  restrain  her 
tears. 

"  Well,  did  you  see  Menshov  ? "  she  suddenly  asked 
him,  in  order  to  conceal  her  agitation.  "  Is  it  not  so, 
they  are  not  guilty  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  What  a  charming  old  woman,"  she  said. 

He  told  her  everything  he  had  found  out  from  Men- 


RESURKECTION  287 

shov,  and  asked  her  whether  she  did  not  need  anything, 
to  which  she  replied  that  she  did  not  want  anything. 

They  were  again  silent. 

"  Well,  in  reference  to  the  hospital,"  she  suddenly  said, 
looking  at  him  with  her  squinting  eyes,  "  if  you  wish,  I 
will  go  there,  and  I  will  stop  drinking  —  " 

Nekhlyudov  looked  her  silently  in  the  eyes.  Her  eyes 
were  smiling. 

"  That  is  very  good,"  was  all  he  could  say,  and  he  bade 
her  good-bye. 

"  Yes,  yes,  she  is  an  entirely  different  person !  "  thought 
ISTekhlyiidov,  experiencing,  after  his  previous  misgivings, 
an  altogether  new,  never  before  experienced  feeling  of 
confidence  in  the  invincibleness  of  love. 

Upon  returning  after  this  meeting  to  her  malodorous 
cell,  Maslova  took  off  her  cloak  and  sat  down  in  her 
place  on  the  benches,  dropping  her  hands  on  her  knees. 
In  the  cell  were  only  consumptive  Vladimirskaya  with 
her  suckling  babe,  old  woman  Menshov,  and  the  flag- 
woman  with  the  two  children.  The  sexton's  daughter 
had  been  declared  mentally  deranged  the  day  before,  and 
taken  to  the  hospital.  All  the  other  women  were  wash- 
ing clothes.  The  old  woman  was  lying  on  the  bench  and 
sleeping;  the  children  were  in  the  corridor,  the  door  to 
which  was  open. 

Vladimirskaya  with  the  babe  in  her  arms  and  the  flag- 
woman  with  a  stocking  went  up  to  Maslova. 

"  Well,  did  you  see  him  ?  "  they  asked. 

Maslova  sat  on  the  high  bench,  without  saying  a  word, 
and  dangling  her  feet,  which  did  not  reach  down  to  the 
floor. 

"  Don't  mope  ! "  said  the  flagwoman.  "  Above  every- 
thing else,  don't  lose  your  courage,  Katyusha.  Well?" 
she  said,  rapidly  moving  her  fingers. 

Maslova  made  no  reply. 


288  EESUKRECTION 

"  Our  women  have  gone  to  wash  the  clothes.  They 
said  that  to-day  there  would  be  great  almsgiving.  They 
have  brought  a  lot,  they  say,"  said  Vladimirskaya. 

"  Finashka ! "  the  flagwoman  cried  through  the  door. 
"  Where  are  you,  you  little  urchin  ?  " 

She  took  out  one  knitting-needle,  and,  sticking  it  into 
the  ball  of  thread  and  the  stocking,  she  went  into  the 
corridor. 

Just  then  was  heard  the  noise  of  steps  and  of  women's 
conversation  in  the  corridor,  and  the  inmates  of  the  cell, 
with  their  shoes  over  their  bare  feet,  entered,  each  of 
them  carrying  a  roll,  and  some  of  them  even  two.  Fedosya 
at  once  went  up  to  Maslova. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Is  something  wrong  ? "  asked  Feddsya, 
looking  lovingly  at  Maslova  with  her  clear  blue  eyes. 
"  Here  is  something  with  our  tea,"  and  she  put  away  the 
rolls  on  the  shelf. 

"  Has  he  given  up  the  idea  of  marrying  you  ? "  said 
Korabl^va. 

"  No,  he  has  not,  but  I  do  not  want  to,"  said  Maslova. 

"  You  are  a  silly  girl ! "  Korabl(^va  said,  in  her  bass. 

"  If  you  are  not  to  live  together,  what  good  would  it  do 
you  to  get  married  ? "  said  Feddsya. 

"  But  your  husband  is  going  along  with  you,"  said  the 
flagwoman. 

"  Yes,  we  are  lawfully  married,"  said  Feddsya.  "  But 
what  use  is  there  for  him  to  bind  himself  lawfully,  if  he 
is  not  to  live  with  you  ?  " 

"  What  a  silly  woman  !  What  for  ?  If  he  should 
marry  her,  he  would  cover  her  with  gold." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  would  follow  me,  wherever  I 
might  be  sent,"  said  Maslova.  "  If  he  will  go,  he  will ; 
and  if  not,  I  sha'n't  beg  him." 

"  Now  he  is  going  to  St.  Petersburg  to  look  after  my 
case.  All  the  ministers  there  are  his  relatives,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  only  I  have  no  use  for  them." 


RESUKRECTION  289 

"  Of  course  ! "  Korabl^va  suddenly  interposed,  opening 

up  her  bag,  and  evidently  thinking  of  something  else. 
"  Shall  we  have  some  liquor  ? " 

"  I  sha'n't  drink  any,"  answered  Maslova.  "  Drink 
yourselves." 


FART   THE    SECOND 


In  two  weeks  the  case  would  probably  come  up  in  the 
Senate,  and  by  that  time  Nekhlyildov  intended  to  be  in 
St.  Petersburg,  in  order,  in  case  of  a  failure  in  the  Senate, 
to  petition  his  Majesty,  as  the  lawyer,  who  had  written 
the  appeal,  had  advised  him  to  do.  Should  the  appeals 
remain  fruitless,  for  which,  in  the  lawyer's  opinion,  he 
ought  to  be  prepared,  as  the  causes  for  annulment  vv^ere 
rather  weak,  the  party  of  the  convicts  to  be  deported,  of 
wliich  number  Maslova  was  one,  might  leave  in  the  first 
days  of  June ;  therefore,  in  order  to  be  ready  to  follow 
Maslova  to  Siberia,  which  was  Nekhlyiidov's  firm  inten- 
tion, he  had  to  go  down  to  his  villages,  to  arrange  his 
affairs  there. 

First  Nekhlyildov  went  to  Kuzminskoe,  his  nearest, 
large  black-earth  estate,  from  which  he  derived  his  chief 
income.  He  had  lived  on  this  estate  during  his  child- 
hood and  youth ;  then,  when  he  was  a  grown  man,  he 
had  been  there  twice,  and  once,  at  his  mother's  request, 
he  had  taken  a  German  superintendent  there,  with  whom 
he  had  examined  the  whole  property ;  consequently  he 
had  long  Ijeen  acquainted  with  the  condition  of  the  estate 
and  with  the  relations  the  peasants  bore  to  the  office,  that 
is,  to  the  landed  proprietor.  They  were  such  that  the 
peasants  were  in  complete  dependence  on  the  office. 
Nekhlyudov  had  known  all  this  since  his  student  days, 
when    he    had    professed   and   preached   Henry  George's 

291 


292  EESUKRECTION 

doctrine  and,  on  account  of  this  doctrine,  had  distributed 
his  land  among  the  peasants. 

It  is  true,  after  his  military  service,  when  he  became 
accustomed  to  spending  twenty  thousand  a  year,  all  this 
knowledge  ceased  being  obligatory  in  his  life  and  was 
forgotten.  He  did  not  question  himself  whence  the 
money  came  which  his  mother  gave  him,  and  tried  not 
to  think  of  it.  But  his  mother's  death,  the  inheritance, 
and  the  necessity  of  managing  his  estate,  that  is,  the 
land,  again  roused  in  him  the  question  of  the  ownership 
of  land.  A  mouth  before,  Nekhlyudov  would  have  said 
to  himself  that  he  was  not  able  to  change  the  existing 
order  of  things,  that  it  was  not  he  who  managed  the 
estate,  —  and  would  have  more  or  less  acquiesced,  since 
he  was  living  far  away  from  his  property,  from  which  he 
received  the  money.  But  now  he  decided  that,  although 
he  was  confronted  with  a  journey  to  Siberia  and  with 
complicated  and  difficult  relations  with  the  world  of  pris- 
ons, for  which  money  would  be  needed,  he  could  not  leave 
affairs  in  their  previous  condition,  but  that  he  ought  to 
change  them,  even  though  he  suffer  from  that. 

He  determined  not  to  work  the  land  himself,  but  to 
give  it  to  the  peasants  at  a  low  rental,  which  would 
ensure  their  independence  from  the  landed  proprietor  in 
general.  Frequently,  upon  comparing  the  condition  of 
the  landed  proprietor  with  the  owner  of  serfs,  Nekhlyudov 
considered  the  transfer  of  the  land  to  the  peasants  as 
against  the  working  of  it  by  means  of  liired  labour 
as  being  a  parallel  case  to  the  action  of  the  serf-owners, 
when  they  allowed  the  peasants  to  substitute  a  yearly  tax 
for  the  manorial  labour.  It  was  not  a  solution  of  the 
question,  but  a  step  iu  that  direction :  it  was  a  transition 
from  a  coarser  to  a  less  coarse  form  of  violence.  It  was 
this  that  he  intended  to  do. 

Nekhlyudov  arrived  at  Kuzminskoe  about  midnight. 
Simplifying  his  life  as  much  as  possible,  he  had  not  tele- 


RESURRECTION  293 

graphed  about  his  arrival,  but  took  at  the  station  a  two- 
horse  tarautas.  The  driver  was  a  young  fellow  in  a 
nankeen  sleeveless  coat,  which  was  girded  along  the 
folds  beneath  the  long  waist ;  he  sat  in  driver's  fashion, 
sidewise,  on  the  box,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  talk  to 
the  gentleman,  since,  while  they  were  talking,  it  gave  the 
foundered,  limping,  white  shaft-horse  and  the  lame,  weak- 
kneed  off  horse  a  chance  to  go  at  a  pace  which  pleased 
them  very  much. 

"A  superb  German,"  said  the  driver,  who  had  lived 
in  the  city  and  read  novels.  He  was  sitting  half-turned 
toward  the  passenger,  and  was  playing  with  the  whip- 
handle,  which  he  caught  now  from  above,  and  now  from 
below ;  he  was  evidently  making  a  display  of  his  culture. 
"  He  has  provided  himself  with  a  cream-coloured  three- 
span,  and  when  he  drives  out  with  his  lady,  it  makes  you 
feel  small,"  he  continued.  "  In  winter,  at  Christmas, 
there  was  a  Christmas  tree  in  the  large  house,  —  I  then 
took  some  guests  there;  it  was  lighted  with  an  electric 
spark.  You  could  not  find  the  like  of  it  in  the  whole 
Government !  He  has  stolen  a  lot  of  money  !  And  why 
not  ?  Everything  is  in  his  power.  They  say  he  has 
bought  himself  a  fine  estate." 

Nekhlyiidov  had  thought  that  he  was  quite  indifferent 
to  the  way  the  German  was  managing  and  using  his 
estate.  But  the  story  of  the  driver  with  the  long  waist 
was  disagreeable  to  him.  He  enjoyed  the  beautiful 
day,  the  dense,  darkling  clouds,  which  now  and  then 
shrouded  the  sun ;  and  the  field  of  spring  grain,  over 
which  the  peasants  were  walking  behind  their  ploughs,  in 
order  to  plough  down  the  oats ;  and  the  thickly  sprouting 
verdure,  over  which  the  skylarks  hovered  ;  and  the  forests, 
which  now,  with  the  exception  of  the  late  oaks,  were  cov- 
ered with  fresh  foliage ;  and  the  meadows,  on  which  the 
various-coloured  herds  of  cattle  and  horses  could  be  seen ; 
and  the  fields,  upon  which  he  saw  the  ploughmen,  —  but 


294  RESURRECTIOK 

no,  no,  he  thought  of  something  unpleasant,  and  when  he 
asked  himself  what  it  was,  he  recalled  the  story  of  the 
driver  about  how  the  German  had  been  managing  his 
Kuzminskoe  estate. 

Upon  arriving  at  Kuzminskoe  and  beginning  to  work, 
Nekhlyudov  forgot  that  feeliug. 

The  examination  of  the  office  books  and  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  clerk,  who  naively  pointed  out  the  advantages 
of  the  small  peasant  plots,  surrounded  by  the  manorial 
lands,  only  confirmed  Nekhlyudov  in  his  desire  to  give 
up  the  estate,  and  transfer  all  the  land  to  the  peasants. 
From  these  office  books  and  from  his  talk  with  the  clerk 
he  discovered  that,  as  before,  two-thirds  of  the  best  cul- 
tivable land  were  worked  by  hired  labour  and  improved 
machinery,  while  the  remaining  third  was  cultivated  by 
the  peasants  at  the  rate  of  five  roubles  the  desyatina ; 
that  is,  for  five  roubles  a  peasant  was  obliged  three  times 
to  plough  up,  three  times  to  harrow,  and  to  sow  in  the 
desyatina,  that  is,  to  perform  labour  which  at  the  cheapest 
hired  rate  would  cost  ten  roubles.  Similarly  the  peas- 
ants paid  for  everything  they  needed  out  of  the  office  at 
the  highest  rate  in  labour.  They  worked  for  the  mead- 
ows, for  the  timber,  for  the  potato  greens,  and  nearly  all 
of  them  were  in  debt  to  the  office.  Thus  they  paid  for 
the  outlying  fields,  which  were  let  to  the  peasants,  four 
times  as  much  a  desyatina  as  it  possibly  could  bring  by 
figuring  at  five  per  cent,  interest. 

Nekhlyudov  had  known  all  that  before ;  but  he  now 
learned  it  as  something  new,  and  he  only  marvelled  how 
it  was  that  he  and  all  other  people  in  similar  conditions 
could  have  helped  seeing  the  abnormality  of  such  rela- 
tions. The  proofs  which  the  superintendent  adduced  that, 
if  he  let  the  peasants  have  the  land,  the  whole  inventory 
would  be  ruined,  that  it  would  not  be  possible  to  sell  it  at 
one-fourth  its  value,  after  the  peasants  had  exhausted  the 
land,  that,  in  general,  Nekhlyudov  would  lose  a  great  deal 


RESURRECTION  295 

through  this  transfer,  —  only  confirmed  him  in  his  behef 
that  he  was  doing  a  good  act  by  giving  the  peasants  the 
land  and  depriving  himself  of  a  great  part  of  his  income. 
He  decided  to  settle  the  matter  at  once,  during  his  present 
stay.  The  superintendent  was  to  harvest  and  sell  the 
growing  grain,  and  to  sell  all  the  chattels  and  unneces- 
sary buildings.  For  the  present,  he  asked  the  superin- 
tendent to  call  together  for  the  next  day  the  peasants  of 
the  three  villages,  which  were  surrounded  by  the  estate 
of  Kuzminskoe,  in  order  to  announce  to  them  his  inten- 
tion and  to  come  to  an  agreement  in  regard  to  the  land 
which  he  was  to  give  them. 

With  a  pleasant  consciousness  of  his  firmness  in  the 
face  of  the  superintendent's  proofs  and  of  his  readiness 
to  sacrifice  in  favour  of  the  peasants,  Nekhlyvidov  left 
the  office.  Eeflecting  on  the  business  which  was  before 
him,  he  walked  around  the  house,  along  the  flower-beds 
which  now  were  neglected  (there  was  a  well-kept  flower- 
bed opposite  the  superintendent's  house),  over  the  lawn- 
tennis  ground,  now  overgi-own  with  chicory,  and  over  the 
avenue  of  lindens,  where  he  used  to  go  out  to  smoke  his 
cigar,  and  where  three  years  before  pretty  Miss  Kirimov, 
who  had  been  visiting  them,  had  coquetted  with  him. 
Having  thought  out  the  points  of  the  speech  which  he 
intended  to  make  to  the  peasants  on  the  following  day, 
Nekhlyiidov  went  over  to  the  superintendent's,  and,  having 
considered  with  him  at  tea  how  to  liquidate  the  whole 
estate,  quite  calm  and  satisfied  with  the  good  deed  which 
he  was  about  to  do  to  the  peasants,  he  entered  the  room  of 
the  large  house,  which  was  always  used  for  the  reception 
of  guests,  and  which  now  w^as  prepared  for  him. 

In  tills  small  apartment,  with  its  pictures  representing 
various  views  of  Venice,  and  a  mirror  between  two  win- 
dows, was  placed  a  clean  spring  bed  and  a  table  with 
a  decanter  of  water,  with  matches,  and  a  light-extinguisher. 
On  a  large  table  near  the  mirror  lay  his  open  portmanteau, 


296  RESUKRECTION 

in  which  could  be  seen  his  toilet-case  and  a  few  books 
which  he  had  taken  along :  one  of  these,  in  Eussian,  was 
an  essay  on  the  investigation  of  the  laws  of  criminality ; 
there  were  also  one  German  and  one  English  book  on  the 
same  subject.  He  wanted  to  read  them  during  his  free 
moments,  while  travelling  from  village  to  village ;  but  it 
was  too  late  now,  and  he  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  sleep, 
in  order  to  prepare  himself  early  in  the  morning  for  the 
explanation  with  the  peasants. 

In  the  room  there  stood  in  the  corner  an  antique  chair 
of  red  wood,  with  incrustations,  and  the  sight  of  this 
chair,  which  he  remembered  having  seen  in  his  mother's 
sleeping-room,  suddenly  evoked  an  unexpected  feeling  in 
Nekhlyiidov.  He  suddenly  grew  sorry  for  the  house, 
which  would  now  go  to  ruin,  and  for  the  garden,  which 
would  become  a  waste,  and  for  the  forests,  which  would  be 
cut  down,  and  for  all  those  stables,  barns,  implement  sheds, 
machines,  horses,  cows ;  though  they  had  not  been  got  by 
him,  he  knew  with  what  labour  they  had  been  got  together 
and  maintained.  Before,  it  had  appeared  to  him  easy  to 
renounce  it  all,  but  now  he  was  sorry  not  only  for  all  this, 
but  also  to  lose  the  land  and  half  the  income,  which 
might  be  so  useful  to  him.  And  at  once  he  was  assailed 
by  the  reflections  that  it  was  not  wise  or  proper  to  give 
the  land  to  the  peasants,  and  to  destroy  his  estate. 

"  I  must  not  own  land.  But  if  I  do  not  own  land,  I 
cannot  maintain  all  this  estate.  Besides,  I  am  now  bound 
for  Siberia,  and  therefore  neither  the  house  nor  the  estate 
would  be  of  any  use  to  me,"  said  one  voice.  "  That  is  so," 
said  another  voice,  "but  in  the  first  place,  you  are  not 
going  to  pass  all  your  life  in  Siberia ;  and  if  you  marry, 
there  may  be  children.  And  you  have  received  the  estate 
in  good  order,  and  ought  to  transmit  it  in  the  same  condi- 
tion. There  are  certain  duties  to  the  land.  It  is  very 
easy  to  give  it  up  and  ruin  it,  but  very  difficult  to  start 
it  anew.      But,  above    everything   else,  you    must  well 


RESURRECTION  297 

consider  what  it  is  you  intend  to  do  with  your  life,  and 
you  must  take  your  measures  in  regard  to  your  property 
in  accordance  with  this  decision.  And  is  your  determina- 
tion firm  ?  Then  again,  are  you  acting  sincerely  in  con- 
formity with  your  conscience,  or  do  you  do  so  for  the  sake 
of  people,  in  order  to  boast  before  them  ? "  Nekhlyiidov 
asked  himself,  and  could  not  help  confessing  that  the 
opinions  of  people  had  an  influence  upon  his  decision.  The 
longer  he  thought,  the  more  did  questions  arise  before 
him,  and  the  more  insolvable  they  became. 

In  order  to  free  himself  from  these  thoughts,  he  lay 
down  on  his  fresh  bed  and  wanted  to  fall  asleep,  in  order 
to  solve  on  the  morrow,  when  his  head  would  be  clear, 
all  those  questions  in  which  he  had  become  entangled 
now.  But  he  could  not  sleep  for  a  long  time.  Through 
the  open  windows  poured  in,  together  with  the  fresh  air 
and  moonlight,  the  croaking  of  frogs,  which  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  singing  and  whistling  of  the  nightmgales 
far  away  in  the  park,  and  of  one  near  by,  under  the  win- 
dow, in  a  spreading  lilac  bush.  Listening  to  the  sounds 
of  the  frogs  and  nightingales,  Nekhlyudov  thought  of  the 
music  of  the  superintendent's  daughter ;  he  also  recalled 
the  superintendent  of  the  prison,  and  Maslova,  whose 
lips  had  quivered  like  the  croaking  of  the  frogs,  when 
she  said,  "  Leave  me  altogether."  Then  the  German 
superintendent  of  the  estate  was  going  down  to  the  frogs. 
It  was  necessary  to  hold  him  back,  but  he  not  only 
slipped  down,  but  even  became  Maslova  herself,  and 
began  to  reproach,  "  I  am  a  convict,  and  you  are  a  prince." 
"  No,  I  will  not  sulimit,"  thought  Nekhlyudov,  awakening, 
and  he  asked  himself :  "  Well,  am  I  doing  right  or  wrong  ? 
I  do  not  know,  and  it  does  not  make  any  difference  to 
me.  It  makes  no  difference.  But  I  must  sleep."  And 
he  himself  began  to  slip  down  where  the  superintendent 
and  Maslova  had  gone,  and  there  everything  was  ended. 


IL 

On  the  following  day  Nekhlyitdov  awoke  at  nine 
o'clock.  The  young  office  clerk,  who  was  attending  him, 
upon  hearing  him  stir,  brought  him  his  shoes  which  shone 
as  never  before,  and  clear,  cold  spring  water,  and  an- 
nounced to  him  that  the  peasants  had  assembled.  Nekh- 
lyildov  jumped  up  from  bed  and  shook  off  his  sleep. 
There  was  not  even  a  trace  left  of  his  last  day's  feeling 
of  regret  at  giving  up  his  land  and  estate.  He  now 
thought  of  it  with  surprise.  He  now  was  rejoicing  in 
his  act,  and  involuntarily  proud  of  it.  Through  the 
window  of  his  room  he  could  see  the  lawn-tennis  ground, 
overgrown  with  chicory,  where  the  peasants,  at  the 
superintendent's  request,  had  gathered. 

The  frogs  had  not  been  croaking  in  vain.  The  weather 
was  gloomy ;  a  still,  windless,  warm  rain  had  been  driz- 
zling since  morning,  and  it  hung  in  drops  on  the  leaves, 
branches,  and  grass.  Through  the  window  burst  not  only 
the  odour  of  the  verdure,  but  also  the  odour  of  the  earth 
crying  for  moisture.  While  dressing,  Nekhlyudov  several 
times  looked  out  of  the  window  and  watched  the  peasants 
coming  together  in  the  open  space.  They  walked  up  one 
after  another,  took  off  their  caps,  and  stood  in  a  circle, 
leaning  over  their  sticks.  The  superintendent,  a  plump, 
muscular,  strong  young  man,  in  a  short  frock  coat,  with 
a  green  standing  collar  and  immense  buttons,  came  to  tell 
Nekhlyitdov  that  all  had  come,  but  that  they  would  wait, 
while  Nekhlyudov  had  better  drink  some  tea  or  coffee, 
for  both  were  ready. 

"  No,  I  prefer  to  go  down  to  them  at  once,"  said  Nekh- 

298 


KESURRECTION  290 

lyiidov,  experiencing,  quite  unexpectedly  to  himself,  a 
feeling  of  timidity  and  shame  at  the  thought  of  the 
conversation  which  he  was  to  have  now  with  the  peasants. 

He  was  about  to  fulfil  that  wish  of  the  peasants,  of 
which  they  did  not  even .  dare  to  dream,  —  to  give  them 
land  at  a  low  price,  —  that  is,  he  was  going  to  do  them  a 
kindness,  and  yet  he  felt  ashamed  of  something.  When 
Nekhlyudov  approached  the  peasants  gathered  there,  and 
the  blond,  curly,  bald,  and  gray  heads  were  bared,  he 
became  so  embarrassed  that  he  chd  not  know  what  to  say. 
The  rain  continued  to  drizzle  and  to  settle  on  the  hair, 
the  beards,  and  the  nap  of  the  peasant  caftans.  The 
peasants  looked  at  the  master  and  waited  for  him  to  say 
something,  while  he  was  so  embarrassed  that  he  could 
not  utter  a  word.  This  embarrassing  silence  was  broken 
by  the  calm,  self-confident  German  superintendent,  who 
regarded  himself  as  a  connoisseur  of  the  Eussian  peasant, 
and  who  spoke  Eussian  beautifully  and  correctly.  This 
strong,  overfed  man,  just  like  Nekhlyudov,  presented  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  lean,  wrinkled  faces  and  the  thin 
shoulder-blades  of  the  peasants,  which  protruded  under- 
neath their  caftans. 

"  The  prince  wants  to  do  you  a  favour,  and  to  give  you 
land,  —  only  you  do  not  deserve  it,"  said  the  superin- 
tendent. 

"  Why  do  we  not  deserve  it,  Vasili  Karlych  ?  Have 
we  not  worked  for  you  ?  We  are  much  satisfied  with  the 
defunct  lady,  —  the  kingdom  of  heaven  be  hers,  —  and 
the  young  prince  is  not  going  to  abandon  us,"  began  a 
red-haired  orator. 

"  I  have  called  you  together  in  order  to  give  you  land, 
if  you  so  wish  it,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

The  peasants  were  silent,  as  though  not  comprehend- 
ing, or  not  believing. 

"  In  what  sense  do  you  mean  to  give  the  land  ? "  said  a 
middle-aged  peasant  in  a  sleeveless  coat. 


300 


KESURRECTION 


"  To  let  it  to  you  at  a  low  rental,  for  your  own  use." 

"  That  is  very  fine,"  said  an  old  man, 

"  If  only  the  price  will  be  within  our  reach,"  said  an- 
other. 

"  Why  should  we  not  take  the  land  ? " 

"  This  is  our  business,  —  to  make  a  living  off  the  land." 

"  It  will  be  easier  for  you.  All  you  will  have  to  do 
is  to  receive  the  money,  and  no  trouble ! "  were  heard 
some  voices. 

"  It  is  you  who  are  causing  the  trouble,"  said  the  Ger- 
man.    "  If  you  only  worked  and  kept  order." 

"  It  is  impossible  for  us,  Vasili  Karlych,"  interposed  a 
sharp-nosed,  lean  old  man.  "  You  say,  '  Why  did  you 
let  your  horse  into  the  grain,'  but  who  has  let  him  ?  I 
work  day  in,  day  out,  with  the  scythe,  and  maybe  fall 
asleep  at  night,  and  he  is  in  your  oats,  and  then  you  flay 
me  alive." 

"  If  you  only  kept  things  in  order." 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  talk  al)out  order,  but  that  is 
above  our  strength,"  retorted  a  tall,  black-haired,  bearded, 
not  very  old  man. 

"  I  have  told  you  to  put  up  fences." 

"  Well,  give  us  the  timber  for  it,"  protested  an  insignif- 
icant, small  peasant  at  the  rear.  "  I  wanted  to  fence  in 
last  summer,  when  you  stuck  me  into  jail  for  three 
months  to  feed  the  lice.  That's  the  way  I  have  fenced 
in." 

"  What  is  he  talking  about  ? "  Nekhlyiidov  asked  his 
superintendent. 

" Der  erste  Diet  im  Dorfe"  tlie  superintendent  said  in 
German.  "  He  has  been  caught  every  year  in  the  woods. 
Learn  to  respect  other  people's  property,"  said  the  super- 
intendent. 

"  Do  we  not  respect  you  ? "  said  an  old  man.  "  We 
cannot  help  respecting  you,  because  we  are  in  your  power, 
and  you  twist  us  into  ropes." 


EESUKIiECTION  oOl 

"  Well,  my  friend,  you  are  not  the  people  to  be  worsted ; 
it  is  you  who  are  doing  the  worsting." 

"  Of  course,  we  do  the  worsting !  Last  year  you 
slapped  my  face,  and  so  it  was  left.  Apparently  it  does 
no  good  to  try  to  get  justice  out  of  a  rich  man." 

"  Do  as  the  law  tells  you  to." 

Manifestly  this  was  an  oratorical  bout,  in  which  the 
participants  did  not  exactly  see  what  they  were  talking 
about  and  to  what  purpose.  On  the  one  side,  one  could 
perceive  anger  restrained  by  fear,  and  on  the  other,  the 
consciousness  of  superiority  and  power.  Nekhlyiidov  was 
pained  by  what  he  heard,  and  tried  to  return  to  the  mat- 
ter in  hand,  —  to  establish  prices  and  determine  the  periods 
of  payments. 

"  How  is  it  then  about  the  land  ?  Do  you  want  it  ? 
And  what  price  will  you  set  upon  it,  if  it  is  all  given  to 
you?" 

"  It  is  your  article,  so  you  set  a  price." 

Nekhlyudov  mentioned  a  price.  Although  it  was  much 
lower  than  what  was  paid  in  the  neighbourhood,  the  peas- 
ants, as  is  always  the  case,  began  to  haggle  and  to  find 
the  price  too  high.  Nekhlyudov  had  expected  that  his 
proposition  would  be  accepted  with  joy,  but  there  was  no 
apparent  expression  of  pleasure.  Nekhlyiidov  could  see 
that  this  proposition  was  advantageous  to  them,  because 
when  the  question  arose  who  was  going  to  take  the  land, 
wliether  the  whole  Commune,  or  by  partnership,  there  be- 
gan bitter  contentions  between  those  peasants  who  wanted 
to  exclude  the  feeble  and  the  poor  payers  from  participa- 
tion in  the  land,  and  those  who  were  to  be  excluded. 
Finally,  thanks  to  the  superintendent,  a  price  and  periods 
of  payment  were  agreed  upon,  and  the  peasants,  convers- 
ing loudly,  went  down-hill,  toward  the  village,  while 
Nekhlyudov  went  to  the  office  to  sketch  the  conditions 
with  the  superintendent. 

Everything  was  arranged  as  Nekhlyudov  had  wished 


302  RESURRECTION 

and  expected :  the  peasants  received  their  land  at  thirty 
per  cent,  less  than  was  asked  in  the  neighbourhood ;  his 
income  from  the  land  was  cut  almost  into  two,  but  that 
was  more  than  enough  for  Nekhlyiidov,  especially  in  con- 
junction with  the  sum  which  he  received  for  the  timber 
which  he  had  sold,  and  which  he  was  to  net  from  the 
sale  of  the  chattels.  Everything  seemed  to  go  well,  and 
yet  Nekhlyudov  felt  all  the  time  ashamed  of  something. 
He  saw  that  the  peasants,  notwithstanding  the  thanks 
which  some  had  expressed  to  him,  were  dissatisfied  and 
had  expected  something  more.  It  turned  out  that  he 
had  lost  a  great  deal,  and  the  peasants  did  not  receive 
what  they  had  expected. 

On  the  following  day  the  contract  was  signed,  and, 
accompanied  by  the  select  old  men,  who  had  come  to 
see  him,  Nekhlyudov,  with  the  unpleasant  feeling  of 
something  unfinished,  seated  himself  in  the  superintend- 
ent's superb  "  three-span  carriage,"  as  the  driver  from  the 
station  had  called  it.  Bidding  the  peasants  good-bye, 
who  shook  their  heads  in  surprise  and  dissatisfaction,  he 
left  for  the  station.  The  peasants  were  dissatisfied. 
Nekhlyudov  was  dissatisfied  with  himself.  What  it  was 
he  was  dissatisfied  with  he  did  not  know,  but  he  for 
some  reason  felt  all  the  time  sad  and  ashamed. 


III. 

From  Kuzmmskoe  Nekhlyudov  went  to  the  estate 
which  he  had  inherited  from  his  aunts,  the  one  where  he 
had  become  acquainted  with  Katyusha.  He  intended  to 
arrange  matters  with  the  land  there  just  as  at  Kuzminskoe, 
and  besides,  to  find  out  whatever  he  could  about  Katyusha 
and  her  child  and  his,  whether  it  was  true  that  it  died,  and 
how  it  died.  He  arrived  at  Panovo  early  in  the  morning. 
The  first  thing  he  was  struck  by,  as  he  drove  into  the 
courtyard,  was  the  sight  of  abandonment  and  decay  that 
was  on  all  the  buildings,  but  especially  on  the  house.  The 
sheet-iron  roof,  which  at  one  time  had  been  green,  not 
having  been  painted  for  a  long  time,  was  now  red  with  rust, 
and  several  sheets  were  curled  up,  apparently  by  the  wind  ; 
the  boards  with  which  the  house  was  lined  had  in  spots 
been  pulled  off  by  people,  wherever  the  boards  came 
off  easily  by  turning  away  the  rusty  nails.  Both  the 
front  and  back  porches,  especially  the  memorable  one 
from  the  back,  had  rotted  and  were  broken,  and  nothing 
but  the  cross-beams  were  left.  Some  windows  were  nailed 
up  with  boards,  and  the  wing,  in  which  the  clerk  lived, 
and  the  kitchen,  and  stable,  —  everything  was  gray  and 
dilapidated. 

Only  the  garden  did  not  look  forlorn  ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  had  spread  out  and  grown  up  and  was  now  in  full 
bloom  ;  beyond  the  fence  could  be  seen,  like  white  clouds, 
blooming  cherry,  apple,  and  plum  trees.  The  clump  of 
lilac  bushes  was  flowering  just  as  it  had  flowered  twelve 
years  before,  when  Nekhlyudov  had  played  the  "  burning  " 
catching  game  with  sixteen-year-old  Katyusha,  and  had 

303 


304  RESURRECTION 

fallen  and  stung  himself  in  the  nettles.  The  larch  which 
had  been  planted  by  Sofya  Ivauovna  near  the  house,  and 
which  then  had  been  not  higher  than  a  post,  was  now  a 
large  tree,  of  the  size  of  building  timber,  and  all  clad 
in  yellowish-green,  fluffy  needles.  The  river  was  within 
its  banks  and  dinned  at  the  mill  in  the  sluices.  In  the 
meadow,  beyond  the  river,  was  pasturing  a  mixed  many- 
coloured  herd  of  peasant  cattle. 

The  clerk,  a  seminarist  who  had  not  finished  his  course, 
met  Nekhlyudov  in  the  yard,  continually  smiling;  he 
invited  him  to  the  office,  and,  again  smiling,  as  though 
promising  something  special  by  that  smile,  went  behind 
the  partitiou.  Here  there  was  some  whispering,  and  then 
all  grew  silent.  The  driver  having  received  a  gratuity 
drove  out  of  the  yard,  with  tinkhng  bells,  and  then  every- 
thing became  completely  still.  Then  a  barefoot  girl  in 
an  embroidered  shirt,  with  fluff-riugs  in  her  ears,  ran  past 
the  window ;  after  the  girl  ran  a  peasant,  clattering  with 
the  hobnails  of  his  heavy  boots  over  the  hard  path. 

Nekhlyudov  sat  down  near  the  window,  looking  at  the 
garden  and  listening.  A  fresh  spring  breeze,  bearing 
the  odour  of  the  ploughed-up  earth,  came  in  through  the 
small  double-winged  window,  softly  agitating  the  hair  on 
his  perspiring  brow,  and  some  notes  lying  on  the  window- 
sill,  which  was  all  cut  up  with  a  knife.  On  the  river, 
"  tra-pa-tap,  tra-pa-tap,"  plashed,  mterrupting  each  other, 
the  washing-beetles  of  the  women,  and  these  sounds  ran 
down  the  dam  of  the  river,  that  shone  in  the  sun ;  and 
one  could  hear  the  even  fall  of  the  water  at  the  mill; 
and  past  the  ear  flew  a  fly,  buzzing  in  a  frightened  and 
melodious  manner. 

And  suddenly  Nekhlyudov  recalled  that  just  in  the 
same  manner  long  ago,  when  he  was  young  and  innocent, 
he  had  heard  here  on  the  river  these  sounds  of  the  wash- 
ing-beetles over  the  wet  clothes,  through  the  even  din  of 
the  mill ;  and  just  in  the  same  manner  the  spring  breeze 


KESURRECTION  305 

had  agitated  the  hair  on  his  damp  brow  and  the  notes  on 
the  cut-up  window-sill ;  and  just  as  frightened  a  fly  had 
flown  past  his  ear,  —  and  he  felt  himself,  not  the  eighteen- 
year-old  youth,  which  he  had  been  then,  but  possessed  of 
the  same  freshness,  purity,  and  a  future  full  of  great 
possibilities,  and  at  the  same  time,  as  happens  in  dreams, 
he  knew  that  that  was  no  more,  and  he  felt  terribly  sad. 

"  When  do  you  wish  to  eat  ? "  the  clerk  asked  him, 
smiling. 

"  Whenever  you  wish,  —  I  am  not  hungry.  I  .shall 
walk  down  to  the  village." 

"  Would  you  not  hke  to  go  into  the  house  ?  Every- 
thing is  in  good  order  inside.  You  will  see  that  if  on 
the  outside  —  " 

"  No,  later.  But  tell  me,  if  you  please,  is  there  here 
a  woman  by  the  name  of  Matrt^ua  Kharina  ? "  (That  was 
Katyusha's  aunt.) 

"  Certainly.  She  is  in  the  village.  I  can't  manage 
her.  She  keeps  a  dram-shop.  I  have  upbraided  and 
scolded  her  for  it,  but  when  it  comes  to  writing  an  accu- 
sation, I  am  sorry  for  her :  she  is  old,  and  has  grand- 
children," said  the  clerk,  with  the  same  smile,  which 
expressed  both  a  desire  to  be  pleasant  to  the  master,  and 
also  a  conviction  that  Nekhlyudov  understood  matters  as 
well  as  he. 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  I  should  like  to  go  down  to 
see  her." 

"  At  the  edge  of  the  village,  —  the  third  hut  from  the 
other  end.  On  the  left  hand  there  is  a  brick  cabin,  and 
next  to  the  brick  cabin  is  her  hut.  I  had  better  take  you 
down,"  said  the  clerk,  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  shall  find  her.  In  the  meantime, 
please,  send  word  to  the  peasants  to  come  together :  I 
want  to  speak  to  them  about  the  land,"  said  Nekhlyildov, 
intending  to  arrange  everything  here  as  at  Kuzminskoe, 
and,  if  possible,  on  that  very  day. 


IV. 

Upon  emerging  from  the  gate,  Nekhlyiidov  met  on  the 
hard-trodden  path  across  the  pasture,  which  was  over- 
grown with  plantain  and  wild  rosemary,  the  peasant  girl, 
with  rapidly  moving,  stout,  bare  feet,  in  a  motley  apron, 
with  fluff-rings  in  her  ears.  She  was  now  returning.  She 
swayed  her  left  hand  across  her  path,  while  with  her 
right  she  clutched  a  red  cock  to  her  body.  The  cock, 
with  his  wavy  red  crest,  seemed  to  be  quiet,  and  only 
rolled  his  eyes,  and  now  stretched  and  now  drew  in  one 
of  his  black  legs,  catching  with  his  claws  in  the  girl's 
apron.  As  she  was  coming  nearer  to  the  master,  she 
slowed  down  and  changed  her  run  to  a  walk  ;  when 
she  came  abreast  of  him,  she  stopped  and,  swaying  her 
head  back,  bowed  to  him ;  she  moved  on  with  the  cock, 
when  he  had  passed  her.  Coming  down  to  a  well,  Nekh- 
lyudov  met  an  old  woman,  who  on  her  stooping  shoulders, 
covered  with  her  dirty,  rough  shirt,  was  carrying  full, 
heavy  buckets.  The  old  woman  carefully  let  them  down 
and  bowed  to  him  with  the  same  back  swing  of  her  head. 

Beyond  the  well  began  the  village.  It  was  a  clear, 
warm  day,  and  at  ten  o'clock  it  was  already  hot,  while 
the  gathering  clouds  now  and  then  veiled  the  sun. 
Through  the  whole  street  was  borne  a  sharp,  pungent,  and 
not  disagreeable  odour  of  dung,  which  was  proceeding 
from  the  carts  that  were  climbing  up-hill  along  a  shining, 
smooth  road,  but  more  especially  from  the  dug-up  manure 
piles  of  the  yards,  past  the  open  gates  of  which  Nekhlyii- 
dov was  going.   The  peasants,  who  were  walking  up  the  hill 

30G 


liESUKKECTlON  307 

back  of  the  wagons,  were  barefooted,  and  their  trousers 
and  shirts  were  daubed  with  the  manure  liquid  ;  they  were 
looking  back  at  the  tall,  stout  gentleman,  in  a  gray  hat, 
which  ghstened  in  the  sun  with  its  silk  baud,  as  he  was 
walking  up  the  village,  at  every  second  step  touching  the 
ground  with  his  shining  knotty  cane,  with  a  sparkhng 
knob.  The  peasants,  who  were  returning  from  the  field, 
shaking  on  the  seats  of  their  empty  carts,  which  came 
down  at  a  gallop,  took  off  their  caps  and  with  surprise 
watched  the  unusual  man  who  was  walking  up  their 
street,  while  the  women  walked  out  of  the  gates  or  upon 
the  porches  and  pointed  him  out  to  each  other,  and 
followed  him  with  their  eyes. 

At  the  fourth  gate,  past  which  Nekhlyiidov  happened 
to  pass,  he  was  stopped  by  a  cart  that  was  just  coming 
out  with  a  squeak  from  the  gate ;  it  was  packed  high 
with  manure,  and  had  a  mat  on  top  to  sit  on,  A  six- 
year-old  boy,  excited  at  the  ride  which  he  was  going  to 
have,  was  following  the  wagon.  A  young  peasant,  in 
bast  shoes,  making  long  strides,  was  driving  the  horses 
out  of  the  gate.  A  long-legged,  bluish-gray  colt  leaped  out 
of  the  gate,  but,  becoming  frightened  at  Nekhlyiidov, 
pressed  close  to  the  cart  and,  hurting  its  legs  against  the 
wheels,  jumped  ahead  of  its  distressed  and  slightly 
neighing  mother,  that  was  pulling  the  heavy  wagon.  The 
other  horse  was  being  led  out  by  a  lean,  lively  old  man,  who 
was  also  barefoot,  in  striped  trousers  and  a  long,  dirty 
shirt,  with  protruding  shoulder-blades. 

When  the  horses  got  out  on  the  hard  road,  which  was 
bestrewn  with  tufts  of  manure,  gray,  as  though  burnt, 
the  old  man  turned  back  to  the  gate  and  bowed  to 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  Are  you  the  nephew  of  our  ladies  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  I  welcome  you  upon  your  arrival.  Have  you  come 
to  see  us  ? "  said  the  talkative  old  man. 


308  EESUREECTION 

"  Yes,  yes  —  Well,  how  are  you  getting  along  ? "  said 
Nekblyiidov,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  What  kind  of  a  life  is  it  that  we  lead  ?  The  very 
worst  kind,"  the  talkative  old  man  said,  in  a  singsong, 
drawling  way,  as  though  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  tell  it. 

"  Why  is  it  bad  ? "  said  Nekhlyudov,  walking  into  the 
gate. 

"  What  kind  of  a  life  is  it  ?  The  very  worst  kind,"  said 
the  old  man,  going  with  Nekhlyudov  to  the  penthouse, 
which  was  cleaned  out  to  the  ground. 

Nekhlyudov  went  after  him  under  the  penthouse. 

"  There  they  are,  twelve  souls,"  continued  the  old  man, 
pointing  to  two  wemen,  who,  with  receding  kerchiefs, 
perspiring,  their  skirts  tucked  up,  with  bare  calves  soiled 
half-way  up  with  the  manure,  were  standing  with  pitch- 
forks on  the  platform  which  was  not  yet  cleaned  out  from 
the  dung.  "  I  have  to  buy  six  puds  every  month,  and 
where  am  I  to  get  it  ? " 

"  Haven't  you  enough  of  your  own  ? " 

"  Of  my  own  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  contemptuous 
smile.  "  I  have  enough  land  for  three  souls,  and  this 
year  I  have  only  harvested  eight  ricks,  so  that  there  was 
not  enough  to  last  until  Christmas." 

"  What  do  you  do,  then  ?  " 

"  We  do  hke  this :  I  have  hired  out  one  as  a  labourer, 
and  have  borrowed  money  from  you,  gracious  sir.  I  bor- 
rowed it  before  Shrovetide,  and  the  taxes  are  not  yet  paid." 

"  What  are  your  taxes  ?  " 

"From  my  farm  they  are  seventeen  roubles  for  four 
months.  God  preserve  us  from  such  a  life !  I  do  not 
know  how  to  turn  about." 

"  May  I  go  into  your  house  ? "  said  Nekhlyudov,  moving 
through  the  small  yard,  and  passing  from  the  cleaned-up 
place  to  the  untouched,  but  forked-over,  saffron-yellow, 
strong-smelling  layers  of  manure. 

"  Why  not  ?     Step  in,"   said  the  old  man,  and,  with 


RESURRECTION  309 

rapid  strides  of  his  bare  feet,  that  pressed  the  liquid 
manure  between  their  toes,  running  ahead  of  Nekhlyudov, 
he  opened  the  door  for  him. 

The  women  adjusted  the  kerchiefs  on  their  heads,  let 
down  their  skirts,  and  with  terrified  curiosity  looked  at 
the  clean  master,  with  the  gold  cuff-buttons,  who  was 
walking  into  their  house. 

From  the  hut  rushed  out  two  little  girls  in  shirts. 
Bending  and  taking  off  his  hat,  Nekhlyudov  entered  the 
vestibule  and  the  dirty  and  narrow  room,  which  smelled 
of  some  sour  food,  and  which  was  occupied  by  two  looms. 
Near  the  oven  stood  an  old  woman  with  the  sleeves  of 
her  lean,  venous,  sunburnt  arms  rolled  up. 

"  Here  is  our  master,  and  he  is  visiting  us,"  said  the 
old  man. 

"  You  are  welcome,"  kindly  said  the  old  woman,  rolling 
down  her  sleeves. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  how  you  are  getting  along,"  said 
Nekhlyildov. 

"  We  live  just  as  you  see.  The  hut  is  ready  to  tumble 
down  any  time,  and  it  will  kill  somebody  yet.  But  the 
old  man  says  that  it  is  good.  So  we  live,  and  rule  over 
things,"  said  the  vivacious  old  woman,  nervously  jerking 
her  head.  "  I  am  getting  ready  to  dine.  I  have  to  feed 
the  working  people." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  have  for  dinner  ? " 

"  For  dinner  ?  We  have  good  food.  First  course  — 
bread  with  kvas  ;  the  second  —  kvas  with  bread,"  said  the 
old  woman,  grinning  with  her  half-worn-off  teeth. 

"  No,  without  jokes,  show  me  what  it  is  you  are  going 
to  have  for  dinner  to-day." 

"  What  we  shall  eat  ? "  said  the  old  man,  laughing. 
"  Our  food    is    not    complicated.     Show  it   to   him,  old 


woman." 


The  old  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  So  you  want  to  see  our   peasant  food.     You  are  a 


310  EESUKRECTION 

curious  gentleman,  as  I  look  at  you.  He  wants  to  know 
everything.  I  told  you,  bread  and  kvas,  and  soup  made 
of  goutwort,  which  the  women  brought  yesterday,  —  that's 
the  soup,  and  then,  potatoes." 

"  And  that  is  all  ?  " 

"  What  else  is  there  to  be  ?  We  wash  it  down  with 
milk,"  said  the  old  woman,  laughing,  and  looking  at  the 
door. 

The  door  was  open,  and  the  vestibule  was  full  of  people, 
boys,  girls,  women  with  their  babes,  watching  the  strange 
master  who  was  examining  the  peasant  food.  The  old 
woman  was  evidently  proud  of  her  ability  to  converse 
with  the  master. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is  a  bad,  bad  life  we  lead,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  Whither  are  you  going  ?  "  he  shouted  at  those 
who  were  standing  in  the  door. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Nekhlyildov,  experiencing  uneasiness 
and  shame,  as  to  the  cause  of  which  he  did  not  give  him- 
self any  account. 

"  We  thank  you  most  humbly  for  having  visited  us," 
said  the  old  man. 

In  the  vestibule,  the  people,  pressing  against  each  other, 
made  way  for  him,  and  he  went  into  the  street  and  walked 
up  the  hill.  He  was  followed  by  two  barefoot  boys  from 
the  vestibule  :  one  of  these,  the  elder,  was  in  a  dirty,  once 
white  shirt,  and  the  other,  in  a  worthless,  faded,  rose- 
coloured  shirt.     Nekhlyudov  looked  back  at  them. 

"  Whither  are  you  going  now  ? "  asked  the  boy  in  the 
white  shirt. 

"To  Matr^na  Kharina,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know 
her  ? " 

The  little  fellow  in  the  rose-coloured  shirt  laughed  out 
for  some  reason,  while  the  elder  seriously  asked : 

"  What  Matrena  ?     An  old  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an  old  woman." 

"  0-oh,"  he  drawled  out.    "  That  is  Semen's  wife,  at  the 


KESUREECTION  311 

edge  of  the  village.  We  shall  take  you  there.  Come, 
F^dya,  let  us  take  him  there  !  " 

"  And  the  horses  ? " 

"  Maybe  it  won't  hurt." 

F^dya  agreed  with  him,  and  they  went  all  three  up 
the  street. 


V. 

Nekhlyudov  was  more  at  ease  with  the  boys  than 
with  the  grown  people,  and  he  talked  to  them  on  the  way 
up.  The  little  boy  in  the  rose-coloured  shirt  stopped 
laughing,  and  spoke  as  cleverly  and  clearly  as  the  elder 
child. 

"  Who  is  poorest  of  all  here  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Wlio  is  poor  ?  Mikhayla  is  poor,  Sem^n  Makarov,  and 
then  Marfa  is  mighty  poor." 

"  And  Anisya,  —  she  is  poorer  still.  Anisya  has  not 
even  a  cow,  and  she  has  to  go  a-begging,"  said  little  F^dya. 

"  She  has  no  cow,  but  there  are  only  three  of  them, 
while  there  are  five  of  them  at  Marfa's  house,"  insisted 
the  elder  boy. 

"  But  she  is  a  widow,"  the  rose-coloured  boy  defended 
Anisya. 

"  You  say  Anisya  is  a  widow,  but  Marfa  is  as  good  as  a 
widow,"  continued  the  elder  boy.  "  It  is  all  the  same  as 
though  she  did  not  have  a  husband." 

"  Where  is  her  husband  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  In  jail,  feeding  Uce,"  said  the  elder  boy,  using  the 
customary  expression. 

"  Last  summer  he  cut  down  two  little  birches  in  the 
manorial  forest,  so  he  was  locked  up,"  hastened  to  say 
the  little  rose-coloured  boy.  "  He  has  been  there  these 
six  months,  and  the  woman  has  to  beg,  for  herself,  three 
children,  and  a  poor  old  woman,"  he  explained  at  great 
length. 

"  Where  does  she  live  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  In  this  very  house,"  said  the  boy,  pointing  at  the  hut, 

312 


RESURRECTION  313 

in  front  of  which  a  white-haired  little  child,  who  was 
barely  holding  himself  on  his  crooked  legs  with  its 
turned-out  knees,  was  standing,  with  a  swinging  motion, 
on  the  path  over  which  Nekhlyiidov  was  walking. 

"  Vaska,  where  are  you  running,  you  Httle  urchin  ? " 
cried  a  woman  in  a  dirty  gray  shirt,  which  looked  as 
though  it  were  covered  with  ashes,  as  she  came  running 
out  of  the  hut.  She  rushed  with  a  frightened  face  in 
front  of  Nekhlyudov,  picked  up  the  child,  and  carried 
him  into  the  house. 

It  looked  as  though  she  were  afraid  lest  Nekhlyudov 
should  do  him  some  harm. 

That  was  the  woman  whose  husband  was  locked  up  in 
jail  for  having  taken  the  birches  out  of  Nekhlyiidov's 
forest. 

"  Well,  and  Matrena,  is  she  poor  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov, 
as  they  were  coming  close  to  Matr^na's  hut. 

"  Not  at  all  poor  :  she  traffics  in  liquor,"  the  slim  rose- 
coloured  boy  answered  resolutely. 

Upon  reaching  Matr^na's  hut,  Nekhlyudov  dismissed 
the  boys,  and  entered  the  vestibule,  and  then  the  house. 
Old  Matr^na's  cabin  was  about  fifteen  feet  square,  so  that 
on  the  bed,  which  was  back  of  the  oven,  it  was  not  pos- 
sible for  a  tall  man  to  stretch  himself.  "  On  this  very 
bed,"  he  thought,  "  Katyusha  bore  the  child  and  then  lay 
ill."  Nearly  the  whole  room  was  occupied  by  a  loom, 
which  the  old  woman  was  putting  away  with  her  elder 
granddaughter's  assistance,  just  as  Nekhlyudov,  having 
struck  his  head  against  the  low  door,  entered.  Two  other 
grandchildren  rushed  headlong  after  the  master,  and 
stopped  in  the  door,  taking  hold  of  the  crosspiece  with 
their  hands.  , 

"  Whom  do  you  want  ?  "  angrily  asked  the  old  woman, 
who  was  in  bad  humour  on  account  of  the  loom  that  was 
giving  her  trouble.  Besides,  as  she  secretly  sold  liquor, 
she  was  afraid  of  all  strangers. 


314  RESURRECTION 

"  I  am  the  proprietor.     I  should  Hke  to  talk  with  you." 

The  old  woman  was  silent  and  looked  fixedly  at  him ; 
then  she  suddenly  became  transformed. 

"  Ah,  you,  dear  sir,  and  I,  foolish  woman,  did  not  rec- 
ognize you.  I  thought  it  was  some  transient,"  she  said, 
in  a  feignedly  kind  voice.  "Ah,  you,  my  clear-eyed 
falcon." 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  without  witnesses,"  said 
Nekhlyildov,  looking  at  the  open  door,  where  the  children 
stood,  and  beyond  which  was  a  haggard  woman,  with  a 
lean,  sickly,  pale,  continually  smiling  baby,  in  a  skull-cap 
made  of  rags. 

"  What  is  it  you  have  not  seen  ?  I  will  show  you ! 
Just  let  me  have  my  crutch,"  cried  the  old  woman  at 
those  who  were  standing  in  the  door.  "  Please  close  the 
door ! " 

The  children  went  away,  and  the  woman  with  the 
babe  closed  the  door. 

"  I  was  wondering  who  it  is  has  come.  And  behold, 
it  is  the  master.  My  golden  one,  my  precious  beauty," 
said  the  old  woman.  "  And  so  you  have  deigned  to  come 
to  see  me.  0  you  precious  one !  Sit  down  here,  your 
Serenity,  right  here  on  the  bench,"  she  said,  wiping  off 
the  bench  with  her  apron.  "  I  was  wondering  what  devil 
it  was  that  was  coming  here,  and  behold,  it  was  your 
Serenity,  the  good  master,  the  benefactor,  our  protector." 

Nekhlyildov  sat  down ;  the  old  woman  stood  in  front 
of  him,  supported  her  cheek  with  her  right  hand,  with 
her  left  hand  caught  hold  of  the  elbow  of  her  right  arm, 
and  began  to  speak  in  a  singsong  voice : 

"  You  have  grown  old,  your  Serenity ;  you  used  to  be 
like  a  pretty^  flower,  and  now  ?  Evidently  you,  too,  have 
known. sorrow !" 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  whether  you  remember  Katyusha 
Maslova  ? " 

"  Katerina !     How   could    I   forget    her  —  she   is   my 


RESURRECTIOK  3l5 

niece.  Of  course  I  remember  her ;  I  have  wept  so  many 
tears  for  her.  I  know  all.  Who,  my  dear,  is  not  sinful 
before  God,  and  not  guilty  toward  the  Tsar  ?  A  young 
thing,  —  she  drank  tea  and  coffee,  —  well,  the  unclean 
one  tempted  her,  for  he  is  strong,  and  the  sin  was  com- 
mitted. What  is  to  be  done  ?  If  you  had  abandoned 
her,  but  no,  you  gave  her  a  good  reward,  a  whole  hun- 
dred roubles.  And  what  did  she  do  ?  She  could  not 
comprehend  it.  If  she  had  listened  to  me,  she  might 
have  lived  well.  Though  she  is  my  niece,  I  must  say, 
she  is  not  a  sensible  girl.  I  had  found  such  a  fine  place 
for  her,  but  she  would  not  submit,  and  cursed  the  master. 
It  is  not  right  for  us  to  curse  masters.  Well,  she  was 
dismissed.  Then,  she  might  have  lived  at  the  house  of 
the  forester,  but  she  did  not  want  to." 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  about  the  child.  She  bore  him  in 
your  house,  I  think.     Where  is  the  child  ? " 

"  I  had,  dear  sir,  well  provided  for  the  child.  She  was 
very  ill,  and  thought  she  would  not  get  up.  I  had  the 
child  baptized,  as  is  proper,  and  sent  him  to  a  foundling 
house.  KeaUy,  what  was  the  use  of  tormenting  an  angelic 
little  soul,  when  the  mother  was  dying.  Others  leave 
the  child  without  feeding,  and  it  dies  ;  but  I  thought  that 
it  was  not  right,  and  so  I  took  the  trouble,  and  sent  him 
to  the  foundling  house.  There  was  some  money,  and  so 
he  was  taken  there." 

"  Did  he  have  a  number  ? " 

"He  did,  only  he  died.  She  said  that  he  died  the 
moment  she  came  there." 

"  Who  is  she  ? " 

"  That  woman  who  used  to  live  at  Skorodnoe.  That 
was  her  business.  Malanya  was  her  name,  —  she  is  dead 
now.  She  was  a  clever  woman  —  and  that's  the  way  she 
did  it.  If  a  child  was  brought  to  her,  she  kept  it  in  her 
house,  and  fed  it.  And  she  fed  it  until  the  time  for 
taking  it  away.     When  there  were  three  or  four,  she  took 


316  RESUKRECTION 

them  away.  She  did  it  very  cleverly :  she  had  a  large 
cradle,  in  the  shape  of  a  double  bed,  so  that  the  children 
could  be  placed  either  way.  And  there  was  a  handle 
attached  to  it.  So  she  would  place  four  of  them  with 
their  heads  apart,  so  that  they  should  not  hurt  each  other, 
and  with  their  feet  together,  and  thus  she  took  the  four 
away.  She  stuck  sucking  rags  into  their  mouths,  so  the 
dear  little  things  were  content." 

«  Well,  and  then  ? " 

"  Well,  so  she  took  Katerina's  child  and  kept  him  for 
about  two  weeks.     He  began  to  ail  in  her  house." 

"  Was  he  a  nice  child  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  So  nice  that  he  ought  to  have  had  better  care,  but 
that  was  not  possible.  He  was  just  like  you,"  added  the 
old  woman,  blinking  with  her  old  eye. 

"  What  weakened  him  so  ?  I  suppose  he  did  not  get 
the  right  food." 

"  What  feeding  could  it  be  ?  Consider  that  it  was  not 
her  child.  All  she  cared  for  was  to  get  him  there  alive. 
She  said  that  he  died  the  moment  she  reached  Moscow 
with  him.  She  brought  a  certificate  about  it,  all  in 
proper  shape.     She  was  a  clever  woman." 

That  was  all  Nekhlyudov  was  able  to  find  out  about 
his  child. 


VI. 

Having  again  struck  his  head  against  the  doors  of  the 
house  and  of  the  vestibule,  Nekhlyudov  emerged  in  the 
street.  The  dirty  white  and  the  rose-coloured  boy  were 
waiting  for  him.  A  few  more  had  joined  them.  There 
were  also  waiting  a  few  women  with  their  suckling  babes, 
and  among  them  was  the  woman  who  lightly  held  in  her 
arms  the  anaemic  child  with  the  skull-cap  made  of  rags. 
This  child  did  not  cease  smiling  strangely  with  its  whole 
old-looking  face  and  twirling  strainedly  its  large  fiugers. 

Nekhlyiidov  knew  that  this  was  a  smile  of  suffering. 
He  asked  who  this  woman  was. 

"  This  is  that  very  Anisya  of  whom  I  have  told  you," 
said  the  elder  bo  v. 

Nekhlyiidov  turned  to  Anisya. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along  ?  "  he  asked.  "  What  do 
you  live  on  ? " 

"  How  do  I  live  ?  I  beg,"  said  Anisya,  and  burst  out 
weeping. 

The  old-looking  child  melted  into  a  smile,  twisting  its 
worm-like  httle  feet. 

Nekhlyiidov  drew  out  his  pocketbook,  and  gave  the 
woman  ten  roubles.  He  had  not  made  two  steps  when 
he  was  overtaken  by  another  woman  with  a  child,  then 
by  an  old  woman,  and  again  by  another.  They  all 
spoke  of  their  poverty,  and  asked  to  be  helped.  Nekhlyii- 
dov distributed  the  sixty  roubles  in  small  bills  which  he 
had  in  his  pocketbook,  and,  with  "a  terrible  gnawing 
in  his  heart,  returned  home,  that  is,  to  the  wing  of  the 
clerk. 

317 


318  RESURRECTION 

The  clerk,  smiling,  met  Nekhlyiidov  with  the  informa- 
tion that  the  peasants  would  gather  in  the  evening. 
Nekhlyiidov  thanked  him,  and,  without  entering  the 
rooms,  went  to  stroll  through  the  garden  over  the  over- 
grown paths,  which  were  strewn  with  the  white  petals  of 
the  apple-blossoms,  thinking  over  everything  he  had  seen. 

At  first  everything  near  the  wing  was  quiet,  but  later 
Nekhlyiidov  heard  two  angry  contending  voices  of  women, 
through  which  now  and  then  sounded  the  calm  voice  of 
the  smiling  clerk.     Nekhlyiidov  listened. 

"I  can't  make  out  why  you  are  pulling  the  cross  off 
my  neck,"  said  one  furious  feminine  voice. 

"  She  just  ran  in,"  said  another  voice.  "  Give  her 
back  to  me,  I  say.  Don't  torment  the  cow,  and  keep  the 
milk  away  from  the  children." 

"  Pay,  or  work  it  off,"  said  the  calm  voice  of  the  clerk. 

Nekhlyudov  came  out  of  the  garden  and  went  up  to 
the  porch,  where  two  dishevelled  women  were  standing, 
one  of  them  apparently  in  the  last  stages  of  pregnancy. 
On  the  steps  of  the  porch  stood  the  clerk,  with  his  hands 
in  the  pockets  of  his  hnen  ulster.  Upon  noticing  the 
master,  the  women  grew  silent  and  began  to  fix  the  ker- 
chiefs which  had  slipped  off  their  heads,  and  the  clerk 
took  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets  and  smiled. 

The  trouble  was,  as  the  clerk  explained  it,  that  the 
peasants  purposely  let  the  calves,  and  even  the  cows,  out 
on  the  manorial  meadows.  Thus  two  cows  belonging  to 
these  women  had  been  caught  in  the  meadow  and  had 
been  driven  in.  Now  the  clerk  demanded  thirty  kopeks 
a  cow,  or  two  days  work  from  each  of  the  women.  But 
the  women  declared  that,  in  the  first  place,  the  cows  had 
just  entered  there ;  that,  in  the  second,  they  had  no 
money ;  and  that,  in. the  third,  for  the  promise  to  work  off 
the  fine,  they  demanded  the  immediate  return  of  the  cows 
that  had  been  standing  since  morning  in  the  hot  sun 
without  food,  and  lowing  pitifully. 


KESUKRECTION  319 

"  How  often  I  have  asked  them  in  all  kindness,"  said 
the  smiling  clerk,  looking  at  Nekhlyudov,  as  though 
appealing  to  him  as  to  a  witness,  "to  look  after  their 
cattle  when  they  drive  them  out  to  pasture ! " 

"  I  just  ran  down  to  look  at  my  baby,  when  they  ran 
away," 

"  Then  don't  go  away,  when  you  are  supposed  to  watch 
the  cattle ! " 

"  And  who  will  feed  the  baby  ?  You  won't  give  them 
the  breast." 

"  If  she  had  really  cropped  the  meadow,  her  belly 
would  not  pain  her  now,  but  she  had  barely  gone  in," 
said   the  other. 

"  They  have  pastured  off  all  the  meadows,"  the  clerk 
addressed  Nekhlyudov.  "  If  they  are  not  to  be  fined, 
there  wiU  be  no  hay  at  all." 

"  Oh,  don't  sin,"  cried  the  woman  with  child.  "  Mine 
have  never  gone  there  before." 

"  But  they  have  now,  aud  so  pay,  or  work  it  off." 

"  I  will  work  it  off",  ouly  let  the  cows  go,  and  don't 
starve  them,"  she  cried,  angrily.  "  As  it  is,  I  have  no  rest, 
neither  by  day  nor  by  night.  My  mother-in-law  is  sick. 
My  husband  is  on  a  spree.  I  have  to  attend  to  every- 
thing, aud  I  have  no  strength.  Choke  yourself  with  your 
workiug  off." 

Nekhlyiidov  asked  the  clerk  to  release  the  cows,  and 
himself  went  to  the  garden  to  finish  his  reflections,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  think  about. 

Everything  was  so  clear  to  him  that  he  could  not  help 
wondering  how  it  was  that  people,  and  he  himself  in- 
cluded, had  not  seen  long  ago  what  was  so  manifestly 
clear.  The  people  are  dying  by  starvation,  and  are  used 
to  this  process  of  starvation ;  among  them  conditions  of 
life,  adapted  to  this  starvation,  have  formed  themselves : 
the  dying  off  of  the  children,  hard  labour  for  the  women 
which  surpasses  their  strength,  insufficiency  of  food  for 


320  KESUKKECTION 

all,  especially  for  the  older  men.  And  thus  the  people 
slowly  arrive  at  a  state  when  they  no  longer  see  its  whole 
terror,  and  do  not  complain  of  it.  Therefore  we  regard 
this  condition  as  natural,  and  think  that  it  ought  to  be 
such. 

Now  it  was  as  clear  as  day  to  him  that  the  chief  cause 
of  the  people's  suffering,  as  perceived  and  pointed  out  by 
the  peasants  themselves,  consisted  in  the  fact  that  the 
landed  proprietors  had  taken  away  the  land  from  which 
they  could  provide  for  their  needs.  At  the  same  time,  it 
was  exceedingly  clear  that  the  children  and  old  people 
died  because  they  had  no  milk,  and  they  had  no  milk 
because  there  was  no  land  on  which  to  pasture  their  cows 
and  harvest  their  grain  and  hay ;  it  was  exceedingly  clear 
that  all  the  suffering  of  the  people,  or  at  least  the  chief 
and  nearest  cause  of  that  suffering,  came  from  the  fact 
that  the  land  which  fed  them  was  not  in  their  hands, 
but  in  the  hands  of  men  who,  making  use  of  the  right  to 
that  land,  hved  by  the  labours  of  the  people.  And  the 
land,  which  was  so  necessary  to  the  peasants  that  they 
starved  for  the  lack  of  it,  was  worked  by  these  very 
people,  who  were  reduced  to  extremity,  in  order  that  the 
grain  might  be  sold  abroad,  and  that  the  owners  of  the 
land  might  be  able  to  buy  themselves  hats,  canes,  car- 
riages, bronzes,  and  so  on. 

This  was  now  as  clear  to  him  as  that  horses  which  are 
shut  up  in  an  enclosure  where  they  have  browsed  off  all 
the  grass  will  be  lean  and  starving,  unless  they  be  per- 
mitted to  use'  the  land  where  they  may  find  food  for 
themselves.  And  that  was  terrible,  and  could  not  and 
ought  not  to  be.  And  means  ought  to  be  found  to  do 
away  with  this,  or  at  least  he  himself  ought  not  to  take 
part  in  it. 

"  I  shall  certainly  find  a  way,"  he  thought,  walking  up 
and  down,  in  the  nearest  avenue  of  birches.  "  In  learned 
societies,  governmental  institutions,  and   newspapers  we 


RESURRECTION  321 

talk  about  the  causes  of  the  people's  impoverishment,  and 
about  the  means  for  their  uplifting,  except  the  one  certain 
means,  which  the  people  will  unquestionably  suggest,  and 
which  is  that  the  land  which  has  been  taken  from  them 
be  returned  to  them."  He  vividly  recalled  the  funda- 
mental doctrine  of  Henry  George,  and  his  former  enthusi- 
asm for  it,  and  he  wondered  how  it  was  he  had  forgotten 
it  all.  "  The  land  cannot  be  the  object  of  private  owner- 
ship ;  it  cannot  be  the  object  of  purchase  and  sale,  any 
more  than  water,  air,  and  the  sun  are.  Everybody  has  the 
same  right  to  the  land  and  to  the  privileges  which  it  be- 
stows." And  he  understood  nov/  why  he  felt  so  ashamed 
as  he  was  arranging  matters  at  Kuzminskoe.  He  had 
been  deceiving  himself.  Though  he  knew  that  man  had  no 
right  to  the  land,  he  assumed  it  in  his  own  case,  and  pre- 
sented the  peasants  with  a  part  of  that  which,  in  the 
depth  of  his  soul,  he  knew  he  had  no  right  to. 

He  would  not  do  that  here,  but  would  change  his  Kuz- 
minskoe procedure.  He  thought  out  a  project,  which 
was  that  he  would  give  the  land  to  the  peasants  at  a  stated 
rental,  which  rental  was  to  be  the  peasants'  property  and 
to  be  used  for  the  payment  of  taxes  and  for  pubhc  needs. 
This  was  not  the  Single-tax,  but  the  nearest  possible  ap- 
proach to  it  under  present  conditions.  The  chief  thing  was 
that  he  renounced  his  right  of  private  ownership  of  land. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  house,  the  clerk,  smiling 
most  joyfully,  invited  him  to  dine,  at  the  same  time  ex- 
pressing his  fear  lest  the  food,  which  had  been  prepared  by 
his  wife  with  the  help  of  the  girl  with  the  fluff-rings  in 
her  ears,  should  be  cooked  and  broiled  too  much. 

The  table  was  covered  with  a  rough  cloth  ;  an  em-- 
broidered  towel  took  the  place  of  a  napkin ;  and  on  the 
table  stood  an  old  Saxon  ware  soup-bowl,  with  a  broken 
handle,  in  which  was  potato  soup  with  that  cock  which 
had  been  protruding  now  one  black  leg  and  now  another, 
and  which  now  was  cut  and  even  chopped  into   small 


322  RESURRECTION 

pieces,  in  many  places  still  covered  with  feathers.  After 
the  soup  came  the  same  cock  with  singed  feathers,  and 
cheese  dumplings  with  a  large  quantity  of  butter  and 
sugar.  Although  all  that  was  not  very  palatable,  Nekh- 
lyudov  ate  it,  without  knowing  what  he  was  eating,  for 
he  was  so  occupied  with  his  thought,  which  had  at  once 
dispelled  the  gloom  that  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
the  village. 

The  clerk's  wife  peeped  through  the  door,  while  the 
frightened  girl,  with  the  fluff-rings  in  her  ears,  was  carry- 
ing in  a  dish,  and  the  clerk  himself,  proud  of  his  wife's 
art,  kept  smiling  ever  more  joyfully. 

After  dinner,  Nekhlyiidov  with  difficulty  got  the  clerk 
to  sit  down,  and  in  order  to  verify  his  plans  to  himself 
and  to  have  somebody  to  whom  to  tell  that  which  so  in- 
terested him,  he  informed  him  of  his  project  of  giving  the 
land  to  the  peasants,  and  asked  him  for  his  opinion  on 
the  matter.  The  clerk  smiled,  trying  to  look  as  though  he 
had  thought  so  himself  for  a  long  time,  and  as  though 
he  were  glad  to  hear  it ;  in  reahty,  he  did  not  understand 
a  word,  apparently  not  because  Nekhlyiidov  did  not  ex- 
press himself  clearly,  but  because  from  this  project  it 
appeared  that  Nekhlyiidov  was  renouncing  his  advantage 
for  the  advantage  of  others ;  whereas  the  truth  that  every 
man  cared  only  for  his  own  advantage,  to  the  disadvantage 
of  other  people,  had  taken  such  firm  root  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  clerk  that  he  concluded  that  he  had  not 
understood  Nekhlyiidov  right  when  he  told  him  that  the 
whole  income  from  the  land  was  to  form  the  common 
capital  of  the  peasants. 

"  I  see.  So  you  will  get  a  certain  per  cent,  from  that 
capital,"  he  said,  beaming  with  intelligence. 

•'  Not  at  all.  Understand  that  I  am  giving  all  the  land 
away." 

"  But  then  you  will  have  no  income,"  said  the  clerk,  no 
longer  smiling. 


KESURRECTION  323 

"  No,  I  sha'n't.     I  renounce  it." 

The  clerk  heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  and  then  once  more 
began  to  smile.  He  saw  that  Nekhlyudov  was  not  quite 
sane,  and  immediately  set  out  to  discover  in  the  project  of 
Nekhlyudov,  who  was  giving  up  his  land,  a  chance  for  his 
own  personal  advantage ;  he  tried  to  comprehend  that 
project  in  the  sense  of  being  able  himself  to  make  use  of 
the  laud  which  was  to  be  given  away. 

But  when  he  saw  that  that  was  not  possible,  he  felt 
aggrieved,  and  ceased  taking  any  interest  in  the  plan,  and 
continued  to  smile  only  to  please  his  master.  Seeing  that 
tbe  clerk  did  not  understand  him,  Nekhlyudov  dismissed 
him,  and  himself  sat  down  at  the  cut-up  and  ink-stained 
table,  in  order  to  put  his  plan  down  on  paper. 

The  sun  had  just  set  behind  the  newly  budded  trees, 
and  the  gnats  flew  in  swarms  into  the  room  and  stung 
him.  When  be  had  ended  his  note  and  at  the  same  time 
heard  the  bleating  of  the  cattle  in  the  village,  the  creaking 
of  opened  gates,  and  the  conversation  of  the  peasants  col- 
lected for  tbe  meeting,  Nekhlyudov  told  the  clerk  not  to 
call  the  peasants  to  the  office,  but  that  he  himself  would  go 
to  the  village  and  to  the  yard  where  the  peasants  might 
be  gathered.  Having  swallowed  a  glass  of  tea  offered  him 
by  the  clerk,  Nekhlyudov  went  to  the  village. 


VIL 

There  was  noisy  talk  near  the  yard  of  the  elder,  but 
the  moment  Nekhlyiidov  approached,  the  conversation 
died  down,  and  all  the  peasants,  just  as  at  Kuzminskoe, 
one  after  another  took  off  their  hats.  The  peasants  of 
this  locality  looked  more  poverty-strickea  than  those  at 
Kuzminskoe  :  just  as  the  women  and  girls  wore  fluff-rings 
in  their  ears,  so  the  men  were  nearly  all  of  them  in  bast 
shoes  and  caftans.  Some  were  barefoot,  and  in  nothing 
but  their  shirts,  just  as  they  had  come  from  their  work. 

Nekhlyudov  made  an  effort  over  himself  and  began  his 
speech  by  saying  that  he  intended  to  give  them  the  land 
altogether.  The  peasants  were  silent  and  there  was  no 
change  in  the  expression  of  their  faces. 

"  Because  I  consider,"  said  Nekhlyildov,  blushing,  "  that 
everybody  has  a  right  to  make  use  of  the  land." 

"  That  is  so.  That  is  correct,"  were  heard  the  voices  of 
the  peasants. 

Nekhlyildov  continued  to  speak,  telling  them  that  the 
income  from  the  land  ought  to  be  divided  up  among  all, 
and  therefore  he  proposed  that  they  take  the  land  and  pay 
such  rental  as  they  themselves  might  determine  on  into 
the  common  capital,  which  was  to  be  at  their  disposal. 
There  were  heard  words  of  approval  and  agreement,  but 
the  serious  faces  of  the  peasants  became  ever  more  serious, 
and  the  eyes,  which  had  been  looking  at  the  master,  were 
cast  down,  as  though  not  to  shame  him  with  the  fact  that 
his  cunning  had  been  understood  by  all,  and  that  he 
would  not  deceive  anyljody. 

324 


RESURRECTION  325 

Nekhlyudov  spoke  quite  clearly,  and  the  peasants  were 
sensible  people,  but  he  was  not  understood,  nor  could  he 
ever  be,  for  the  same  reason  that  the  clerk  was  unable  to 
comprehend  him.  They  were  fully  convinced  that  it  was 
proper  for  every  man  to  look  out  for  his  advantage.  But 
the  landed  proprietors,  they  knew  by  the  experience  of 
several  generations,  always  watched  their  own  interests 
to  the  disadvantage  of  the  peasants.  Consequently,  if  the 
proprietor  called  them  together  and  offered  them  some- 
thing new,  it  was  manifestly  for  the  purpose  of  cheating 
them  more  cunningly  still. 

"  Well,  what  rental  do  you  expect  to  put  on  the  land  ? " 
asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  What  is  the  use  putting  a  price  on  it  ?  We  cannot  do 
that.  The  land  is  yours,  and  so  is  the  power,"  was  the 
answer  from  the  crowd. 

"  But  you  will  be  using  that  money  for  your  own  com- 
mon purposes." 

"  We  cannot  do  that.  The  common  good  is  one  thing, 
and  this  is  another." 

"  Understand,"  said  the  smiling  clerk,  who  had  come  up 
after  Nekhlyudov,  wishing  to  explain  the  matter,  "  that 
the  prince  gives  the  land  to  you  for  money,  and  the 
money  goes  back  to  you  as  your  own  capital,  for  your 
common  good." 

"We  understand  quite  well,"  said  an  angry -looking, 
toothless  peasant,  without  raising  his  eyes.  "  It  is  just 
like  in  a  bank,  only  we  shall  have  to  pay  at  stated  times. 
We  do  not  wish  that,  because  it  is  hard  for  us  as  it  is,  and 
that  will  ruin  us  completely." 

"  It  does  us  no  good.  Let  us  live  as  before,"  spoke  dis- 
satisfied and  even  insulting  voices. 

They  began  to  refuse  more  resolutely  when  Nekhlyudov 
mentioned  a  contract  which  he  would  sign  and  they  would 
have  to  sign,  too. 

"What  is  the  use  of  signing?     As  we  have  worked 


326  RESURRECTION 

before,  so  we  shall  continue  to  work.     But  what  good  is 
this  ?     We  are  ignorant  people." 

"  We  can't  agree  to  it,  because  it  is  an  unusual  busi- 
ness. As  it  has  been,  so  let  it  be.  If  only  the  seeds  be 
changed,"  were  heard  some  voices. 

To  change  the  seeds  meant  that  under  present  condi- 
tions the  seeding  was  done  from  the  peasant  grain,  whereas 
they  wanted  the  master  to  furnish  the  grain  to  them. 

"  So  you  decline  it,  and  will  not  take  the  land  ? "  asked 
Nekhlyildov,  turning  to  a  middle-aged  barefoot  peasant, 
with  a  beaming  countenance,  in  a  torn  caftan,  who  in  his 
bent  hand  was  holding  his  tattered  cap  just  as  soldiers 
hold  theirs  when  they  take  them  off  by  command. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  this  soldier,  who  apparently  had  not 
yet  been  freed  from  the  hypnotism  of  militarism. 

"  Consequently  you  have  enough  land  ?  "  said  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  ex-soldier,  with  an  artificial, 
happy  grin,  carefully  holding  his  tattered  cap  in  front  of 
him,  as  though  offering  it  to  anybody  who  might  like  to 
use  it. 

"  Still,  you  had  better  consider  what  I  have  told  you," 
said  Nekhlyildov,  in  surprise,  and  he  repeated  his  propo- 
sition. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  think  over.  As  we  have  said,  so 
it  will  be,"  angrily  muttered  the  toothless  old  man. 

"  I  shall  stay  here  all  day  to-morrow.  If  you  have 
changed  your  minds,  send  word  to  me." 

The  peasants  made  no  reply. 

Nekhlyildov  could  not  get  anything  out  of  them,  and 
went  back  to  the  office. 

"  Let  me  inform  you,  prince,"  said  the  clerk,  upon  re- 
turning home,  "  that  you  will  come  to  no  understanding 
with  them :  they  are  stubborn  people.  The  moment  they 
are  at  a  meeting,  they  become  stubborn,  and  there  is  no 
stirring  them  after  that.     They  are  afraid  of  everything. 


RESURRECTION  327 

And  yet,  on  other  occasions  these  very  peasants  —  take, 
for  example,  that  gray-haired,  or  that  swarthy  man,  who 
did  not  agree  —  are  clever  people.  Whenever  one  of 
them  comes  to  the  office,  and  I  ask  him  to  sit  down  and 
drink  a  glass  of  tea,"  said  the  smiling  clerk,  "  he  talks 
quite  freely,  —  and  he  is  a  minister  as  regards  his  mind, 
—  he  will  judge  everything  correctly.  But  at  the  meet- 
ing he  is  an  entirely  different  man,  and  he  sticks  to  just 
one  thing." 

"  Can't  you  send  for  some  of  these  more  intelligent 
peasants,"  said  ISTekhlyudov.  "  I  should  like  to  explain  it 
to  them  in  detail." 

"  That  can  be  done,"  said  the  smiling  clerk. 

"  Then,  please,  call  them  for  to-morrow." 

"  That  can  be  done,"  said  the  clerk,  smiling  even  more 
cheerfully.     "  I  shall  call  them  for  to-morrow." 

"  I  declare,  he  is  shrewd ! "  said,  swaying  on  his  well- 
fed  mare,  the  swarthy  peasant,  with  his  shaggy,  never 
combed  beard,  to  another  old,  lean  peasant  in  a  tattered 
caftan,  who  was  riding  near  him  and  clanking  with  the 
iron  hobbles.  They  were  riding  to  put  the  horses  to  pas- 
ture for  the  night  on  the  highway  and  secretly  in  the 
manorial  forest.  "  The  idea  of  his  giving  away  the  land 
if  we  put  down  our  signatures  !  They  have  been  fooling 
us  long  enough.  No,  sir,  you  are  joking  !  Nowadays  we 
understand  a  thing  or  two  ourselves,"  he  added,  and  began 
to  call  back  the  straying  yearling  colt. 

"  Here,  colt,"  he  cried,  stopping  his  horse  and  looking 
back,  but  the  colt  was  not  behind,  but  had  gone  into  the 
meadow  at  one  side. 

"  That  is  where  he  has  gone  to,  accursed  one,  into  the 
manorial  meadow,"  said  the  swarthy  peasant  with  the 
shaggy  beard,  as  he  heard  on  the  dew-covered  meadow, 
fragrant  with  the  swamp,  the  crashing  of  the  dock,  over 
which  the  straying  colt  was  prancing  and  whinnying. 


328  RESURRECTION 

"  You  hear,  the  meadows  are  getting  full  of  weeds. 
On  the  holiday  we  shall  have  to  send  the  women  to  weed 
out  the  meadows,"  said  the  slim  peasant  in  the  torn  caf- 
tan.    "  Else  we  shall  ruin  our  scythes." 

"  Put  down  your  signatures,  he  says,"  the  shaggy  peas- 
ant continued  his  judgment  of  the  master's  speech.  "  You 
sign  your  name,  and  he  will  swallow  you  alive." 

"  That  is  right,"  answered  the  old  man.  And  they  did 
not  say  anything  more.  There  was  heard  only  the  thud 
of  the  horses'  feet  on  the  rough  road. 


VIII. 

Upon  returning  home,  Nekhlyiidov  found  in  the  office, 
which  had  been  prepared  for  him  for  the  night,  a  high 
bed  with  a  feather  mattress,  two  pillows,  and  a  crimson,  silk, 
double,  unbending  coverlet,  quilted  with  a  small  design,  — 
evidently  from  the  trousseau  of  the  clerk's  wife.  The 
clerk  offered  Nekhlyiidov  what  was  left  of  the  dinner,  but 
receiving  a  refusal,  he  excused  himself  for  his  slim  enter- 
tainment and  accommodation,  and  retired,  leaving  Nekh- 
lyiidov to  himself. 

The  peasants'  refusal  did  not  in  the  least  embarrass 
Nekhlyiidov.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  quite  composed 
and  happy,  although  there,  at  Kuzminskoe,  his  proposition 
had  been  accepted  and  he  had  received  thanks,  while  here 
incredulity  and  even  hostility  were  shown  to  him.  The 
office  was  close  and  not  clean.  Nekhlyiidov  went  into 
the  yard  and  wanted  to  go  into  the  garden,  but  he  recalled 
that  night,  the  window  in  the  maids'  room,  and  the  back 
porch,  and  it  seemed  unpleasant  to  him  to  stroll  through 
places  that  were  polluted  by  criminal  recollections.  He 
sat  down  on  the  porch,  and,  inhaling  the  strong  odour  of 
the  young  birch  leaves,  which  was  everywhere  in  the 
warm  air,  he  for  a  long  time  looked  at  the  darkling  garden 
and  listened  to  the  mill,  to  the  nightingales,  and  to  some 
other  kind  of  a  bird,  which  was  monotonously  whistling 
in  a  bush  near  the  porch. 

In  the  clerk's  window  the  light  was  extinguished ;  in 
the  east,  back  of  the  barn,  crimsoned  the  glow  of  the 
rising  moon  ;  heat-lightnings  ever  more  brightly  illu- 
minated the  blooming,  wild-growing  garden  and  the  dilap- 

329 


330  RESURRECTION 

idated  house ;  a  distant  clap  of  thunder  was  heard,  and 
one-third  of  the  heaven  was  shrouded  by  a  black  cloud. 
The  nightingales  and  the  bird  grew  silent.  Through  the 
din  of  the  water  in  the  mill  was  heard  the  cackliug  of 
geese,  then  the  early  cocks  in  the  village  and  in  the 
clerk's  yard  began  to  call  to  each  other,  as  they  always 
crow  earlier  on  hot,  stormy  nights. 

There  is  a  saying  that  cocks  crow  early  on  a  cheerful 
night.  This  was  more  than  a  cheerful  night  for  Nekhlyii- 
dov.  It  was  a  joyful,  a  happy  night  for  him.  His 
imagination  reconstructed  for  him  his  impressions  of  that 
happy  summer  which  he  had  passed  here  as  an  innocent 
youth,  and  he  felt  himself  now  to  be  such  as  he  had 
been  then  and  during  all  his  better  moments  in  life.  He 
not  only  recalled,  but  even  felt  himself  to  be  such  as 
he  had  been  when,  being  fourteen  years  old,  he  had 
prayed  to  God  that  He  should  show  him  the  truth,  when, 
as  a  child,  he  wept  on  his  mother's  knees,  at  parting, 
promising  her  always  to  be  good  and  never  to  give  her 
cause  for  grief  ;  he  felt  himself  to  be  such  as  he  was  when 
he  and  Nikoleuka  Irtenev  had  decided  to  support  each 
other  in  a  good  life,  and  to  try  to  make  all  people  happy. 

He  now  recalled  how  at  Kuzminskoe  he  was  tempted 
to  regret  the  house,  the  forest,  the  estate,  the  land,  and 
he  asked  himself  whether  he  regretted  now.  And  it  even 
appeared  strange  to  him  to  have  regretted.  He  recalled 
everything  he  had  seen  on  that  day  :  the  woman  with 
the  children  and  without  her  husband,  who  had  been 
locked  up  in  jail  for  cutting  down  trees  in  his,  Nekh- 
lyudov's,  forest ;  and  terrible  Matr^na,  who  thought,  or, 
at  least,  said,  that  women  of  their  condition  ought  to 
become  gentlemen's  paramours ;  he  recalled  her  relation 
to  the  children,  the  manner  of  their  despatch  to  the 
foundhng  house,  and  that  unfortunate,  smiling  child  in 
the  skull-cap,  that  was  slowly  dying  from  lack  of  food ; 
he   recalled    that  pregnant,  feeble  woman  who    was  to 


KESURRECTION  331 

work  for  him  because,  exhausted  by  work,  she  did  not 
watch  her  cow  that  did  uot  have  enough  to  eat ;  and 
here,  too,  he  recalled  the  prison,  the  shaven  heads,  tlie 
cells,  the  loathsome  stench,  the  chains,  and,  side  by  side 
with  it,  the  senseless  luxury  of  his  life  and  of  that  of  every 
city  gentleman.  Everything  was  quite  clear  and  indis- 
putable. 

The  bright,  almost  full  moon  rose  from  behind  the 
barn,  and  black  shadows  fell  across  the  yard,  and  the 
sheet  iron  on  the  roof  of  the  dilapidated  house  began  to 
sparkle. 

And,  as  though  not  wishing  to  let  the  light  come  out, 
the  silenced  nightingale  began  to  pipe  and  trill  in  the 
garden. 

Nekhlyudov  recalled  how  he  had  begun  at  Kuzminskoe 
to  reflect  over  his  life,  and  to  solve  the  questions  as  to 
what  he  should  do  and  how  he  should  do  it ;  and  he 
recalled  how  he  had  become  entangled  in  these  questions, 
and  could  not  solve  them,  because  there  were  so  many 
considerations  connected  with  each  of  them.  He  now 
put  these  questions  to  himself,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
how  easy  they  were.  They  were  easy  now  because  he 
did  not  think  what  would  become  of  him,  nor  did  that 
interest  him,  but  he  thought  what  he  ought  to  do. 
Strange  to  say,  he  was  absolutely  unable  to  decide  what 
he  himself  needed,  but  knew  beyond  any  doubt  what  was 
to  be  done  for  others.  He  knew  unquestionably  that 
the  land  must  be  given  to  the  peasants,  because  it  was 
wrong  to  retain  it.  He  knew  unquestionably  that  Katyu- 
sha must  not  be  abandoned ;  that  he  must  aid  her, 
and  be  ready  for  everything,  in  order  to  expiate  his  guilt 
before  her.  He  knew  unquestionably  that  he  must  study, 
examine,  elucidate  to  himself,  and  comprehend  all  those 
cases  of  the  courts  and  the  punishments,  in  which  he  was 
conscious  of  seeing  something  which  nobody  else  saw. 
He  did  not  know  what  would  come  of  it  all,  but  he  knew 


332  RESURRECTION 

unquestionably  that  this  and  that  had  to  be  done.  And 
this  firm  conviction  gave  him  joy. 

The  black  cloud  had  veiled  the  whole  heaven,  and  not 
only  heat-lightning,  but  real  lightning,  which  illuminated 
the  whole  yard  and  the  dilapidated  house  with  its  torn- 
off  porches,  was  seen,  and  thunder  was  heard  overhead. 
All  the  birds  grew  silent,  but  the  leaves  began  to  rustle, 
and  the  wind  reached  the  porch,  on  which  he  was  sitting, 
and  tossed  his  hair.  One  drop  fell  upon  him,  then  an- 
other ;  then  the  rain  began  to  drum  on  the  burdock  and 
on  the  iron  sheets  of  the  roof,  and  the  whole  air  was 
brilliantly  lighted  up :  everything  grew  silent,  and  before 
Nekhlyiidov  could  count  three,  almost  over  his  head  there 
came  a  terrible  clap  of  thunder,  which  then  rolled  along 
the  sky. 

Nekhlyiidov  went  into  the  house. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  thought,  "  the  work  done  by  our  life,  all 
the  work,  the  whole  meaning  of  that  work,  is  incompre- 
hensible and  must  remain  incomprehensible  to  me.  Why 
were  there  aunts  ?  Why  did  Nikolenka  Irtenev  die  ?  and 
why  am  I  alive  ?  Why  was  there  Katyusha  ?  And  my 
insanity  ?  Why  was  that  war  ?  And  all  my  consequent 
reckless  hfe  ?  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  understand  aU 
that,  all  the  work  of  the  Master.  But  it  is  in  my  power 
to  do  His  will  as  it  is  wTitten  in  my  conscience,  and 
this  I  know  unquestionably.  And  when  I  do  it,  I  am 
unquestionably  calm." 

The  rain  now  came  down  in  sheets  and  ran  off  the 
roofs,  rustling  into  the  barrel ;  the  lightning  less  often 
lighted  up  the  yard  and  house.  Nekhlyiidov  returned 
to  the  room,  undressed  himself,  and  lay  down  in  the  bed, 
not  without  some  fear  of  bugs,  the  presence  of  which  he 
suspected  from  the  dirty  and  torn  paper  on  the  walls. 

"  Yes,  to  feel  yourself  not  as  a  master,  but  as  a  servant," 
he  thought,  and  rejoiced  at  the  thought. 

His  fears  came   true.     The  moment  he    put   out  the 


RESURRECTION  333 

light,   the  insects  began  to    cling   to   him   and   to   bite 
him. 

"  To  give  up  the  land,  to  journey  to  Siberia,  —  fleas, 
bedbugs,  dirt.  What  of  it  ?  If  I  have  to  bear  all  that, 
I  shall  bear  it."  But,  in  spite  of  his  determination,  he 
could  not  bear  it,  and  so  he  sat  down  near  the  open  win- 
dow, watching  the  fleeting  cloud,  and  the  newly  unveiled 
moon. 


Nekhlyudov  fell  asleep  only  toward  the  morning,  and 
so  he  awoke  late  the  next  day. 

At  noon  seven  chosen  peasants,  who  had  been  invited 
by  the  clerk,  came  to  the  apple  orchard,  under  an  apple- 
tree,  where  the  clerk  had  made  a  table  and  benches  over 
posts  driven  into  the  ground.  It  took  quite  awhile  to 
persuade  the  peasants  to  put  on  their  caps  and  seat  them- 
selves on  the  benches. 

The  ex-soldier,  now  clad  in  clean  leg-rags  and  bast 
shoes,  most  persistently  held  his  torn  cap  in  front  of  him, 
according  to  regulation,  as  at  funerals. 

When  one  of  them,  a  broad-chested  old  man  of  respect- 
able aspect,  with  ringlets  of  a  half-gray  beard,  as  in 
Michael  Angelo's  Moses,  and  with  thick  gray  waving 
hair  over  his  sunburnt  and  bared  cinammon-coloured  brow, 
put  on  his  large  cap,  and,  wrapping  himself  in  his  home-' 
made  caftan,  climbed  over  the  bench  and  sat  down  upon 
it,  all  the  others  followed  his  example.  When  all  had 
taken  their  seats,  Nekhlyiidov  sat  down  opposite  them 
and,  leaning  with  his  elbows  over  a  paper,  which  contained 
a  brief  of  his  project,  began  to  expound  it  to  them. 

Either  because  there  was  fewer  peasants,  or  because  he 
was  occupied  not  with  himself,  but  with  work,  Nekh- 
lyiidov this  time  felt  no  embarrassment.  He  involun- 
tarily turned  preferably  to  the  broad-chested  old  man 
with  his  beard  of  white  ringlets,  awaiting  approval  or 
retort  from  him.  But  the  conception  which  Nekhlyudov 
had  formed  of  him  was  wrong.  Though  the  respectable 
old  man  kept  approvingly  nodding  his  handsome,  patri- 

334 


RESURRECTION  335 

archal  head,  or  tossing  it  and  frowning,  whenever  the 
others  objected  to  something,  it  obviously  was  hard  for 
him  to  understand  what  Nekhlyudov  was  saying,  and 
that  even  when  the  other  peasants  had  transmitted  it  to 
him  in  their  own  language.  Nekhlyudov's  words  were 
understood  much  better  by  a  little,  almost  beardless  old 
man,  who  was  sitting  next  to  the  patriarch ;  he  was  blind 
iu  one  eye,  and  wore  a  patched,  nankeen,  sleeveless  coat, 
and  old  boots,  worn  side  wise ;  he  was  an  oven-builder, 
as  Nekhlyudov  later  found  out.  This  man  kept  moving 
his  eyebrows,  in  his  effort  to  hear  all,  and  immediately 
retold  in  his  own  manner  everything  Nekhlyudov  said. 

Of  equally  quick  understanding  was  a  short,  stocky 
old  man,  with  a  white  beard  and  gleaming,  intelligent 
eyes,  who  used  every  opportunity  to  make  jocular  and 
ironical  remarks  on  Nekhlyudov's  words,  and  who  appar- 
ently was  proud  of  this  ability  of  his.  The  ex-soldier, 
too,  might  have  understoood,  if  he  had  not  been  made 
stupid  by  his  military  experience,  and  did  not  get  entangled 
in  the  habitual,  senseless  talk  of  a  soldier. 

Most  serious  of  all  in  regard  to  the  matter  in  hand 
was  a  tall  man,  with  a  long  nose  and  a  small  beard, 
who  was  speaking  in  a  bass  voice ;  he  was  clad  in  a  clean, 
home-made  garb  and  new  bast  shoes.  This  man  compre- 
hended everything  and  spoke  only  when  it  was  necessary. 
The  other  two  old  men  —  one  of  these,  the  toothless 
peasant  who  on  the  previous  day  had  shouted  a  decided 
refusal  to  every  proposition  of  Nekhlyudov  at  the  meet- 
ing, and  the  other,  a  tall,  white,  lame  old  man,  with  a 
kind-hearted  face,  in  haK-boots,  and  his  lean  legs  tightly 
wrapped  in  leg-rags  —  were  silent  nearly  all  the  time, 
though  they  listened  attentively. 

Nekhlyudov  first  expounded  to  them  his  view  of  the 
ownership  of  the  land. 

"  The  land,"  he  said,  "  according  to  my  opinion,  ought 
not  to  be  sold,  nor  bought,  because  if  it  be  sold,  those  who 


336  .      RESURRECTION 

have  money  will  buy  it  all  up,  and  then  they  will  take 
from  those  who  have  no  land  as  much  as  they  please; 
they  will  take  money  for  the  right  to  use  that  land." 

"  That  is  correct,"  said  the  long-nosed  peasant,  in  a 
heavy  bass. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  ex-soldier. 

"  The  woman  has  picked  a  handful  of  grass  for  her 
cow,  —  they  have  caught  her,  —  to  jail  with  her,"  said 
the  modest,  kind-hearted  old  man. 

"  There  is  some  land  five  versts  from  here,  but  it  is 
beyond  us  to  rent  it ;  they  have  so  raised  the  price  that 
we  can't  make  it  pay,"  said  the  toothless,  angry  old 
man. 

"They  are  twisting  us  into  ropes,  according  to  their 
will ;  it  is  worse  than  manorial  labour,"  insisted  the  angry 
one. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  "  and  I  consider 
it  a  sin  to  own  land.     So  I  want  to  give  it  away." 

"  That  is  a  good  thiug,"  said  the  old  man  with  the 
Moses  curls,  apparently  imagining  that  Nekhlyudov 
wanted  to  let  the  laud. 

"  That  is  why  I  have  come  here.  I  do  not  want  to 
own  any  land,  and  now  we  must  consider  how  I  am  to  get 
rid  of  it." 

"  Give  it  to  the  peasants,  that  is  all,"  said  the  toothless, 
angry  old  man. 

Nekhlyudov  was  for  a  moment  embarrassed,  for  he  under- 
stood these  words  as  doubting  the  sincerity  of  his  inten- 
tions. But  he  immediately  regained  his  composure,  and 
used  this  opportunity  in  order  to  express  his  thought. 

"  I  should  gladly  give  it  to  you,"  he  said,  "  but  to  whom 
shall  I  give  it,  and  how  ?  To  what  peasants  ?  Why  to 
you  people,  and  not  to  the  Deminskoe  peasants  ?  "  This 
was  a  neighbouring  village  with  beggarly  parcels  of 
laud. 

All  were  silent.     Only  the  ex-soldier  said,  "  Yes,  sir." 


RESURRECTION  337 

"  So,  tell  me,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  "  what  you  would  do, 
if  you  had  to  give  the  land  to  the  peasants  ? " 

"  What  we  should  do  ?  We  should  divide  it  all  up 
by  souls,  —  everybody  to  receive  an  equal  part,"  said 
the  oven-builder,  rapidly  raising  and  lowering  liis  eye- 
brows. 

"  That  is  right.  Divide  it  by  souls,"  confirmed  the  lame 
peasant  in  the  white  leg-rags. 

They  all  agreed  to  this  solution,  regarding  it  as  satis- 
factory. 

"  Wliat  do  you  mean  by  souls  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 
"  Are  the  manorial  servants  to  get  some,  too  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  ex-soldier,  trying  to  express 
cheerfulness  in  his  face.  But  the  thoughtful  tall  peasant 
did  not  agree  with  him. 

"  If  it  comes  to  dividing  it  up,  all  ought  to  get  equal 
shares,"  he  said,  in  his  heavy  bass,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"  That  is  impossible,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  having  prepared 
his  answer  in  advance.  "If  all  are  to  get  equal  shares, 
those  who  do  not  themselves  work,  who  do  not  plough, 
will  take  their  shares  and  sell  them  to  the  rich  people. 
And  those  who  are  on  their  parcels  will  have  an  increase 
in  their  family,  and  all  the  land  will  have  been  distributed. 
Again  the  rich  men  wiU  get  those  into  their  hands  who 
need  the  land." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  soldier  hastened  to  add. 

"There  ought  to  be  a  prohibition  against  selling  the 
land,  and  let  those  hold  it  who  themselves  wiU  plough  it," 
said  the  oven-builder,  angrily  interrupting  the  soldier. 

To  this  Nekhlyudov  replied  that  it  would  not  be  possible 
to  watch  whether  one  was  ploughing  for  himself  or  for 
some  one  else. 

Then  the  tall,  thoughtful  peasant  proposed  that  they 
should  plough  it  in  partnership,  and  that  it  should  be 
divided  up,  among  those  who  did  the  ploughing.      "  And 


338  KESUKRECTION 

those  who  did  not  plough  should  get  nothing,"  he  said, 
in  his  determined  bass. 

Against  this  communistic  project  Nekhlyudov  had  ready 
arguments ;  he  retorted  that  for  this  all  the  ploughs  and 
horses  would  have  to  be  the  same,  and  that  none  should 
fall  behind  the  others,  or  tliat  everything,  the  horses,  the 
ploughs,  the  threshing-machines,  and  the  whole  farm, 
would  have  to  be  a  common  possession,  and  that  such  a 
thing  should  be  possible,  it  would  be  necessary  for  all 
people  to  be  of  one  accord. 

"  You  will  never  succeed  in  making  our  people  agree," 
said  the  angry  old  man. 

"  There  will  be  nothing  but  brawls,"  said  the  old  man 
with  the  white  beard  and  smiling  eyes.. 

"  Then  again,  how  is  the  land  to  be  divided  up  accord- 
ing to  its  quality  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyildov.  "  Why  should 
some  get  black  loam,  while  others  will  have  clay  and 
sand?" 

"  Divide  it  up  by  parcels,  then  all  will  get  equal 
shares,"  said  the  oven-builder. 

To  this  Nekhlyildov  replied  that  it  was  not  only  a 
question  of  the  distribution  of  the  land  in  one  Commune, 
but  in  various  Governments.  If  the  land  was  to  be  given 
away  to  the  peasants,  some  would  have  good  lots  and 
others  bad  ones.  Everybody  would  wish  to  get  the  good 
land. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  soldier. 

The  rest  kept  silent. 

"  So,  you  see,  it  is  not  as  simple  as  you  imagine,"  said 
Nekhlyudov.  "  And  not  only  we  alone,  but  other  peo- 
ple also  are  thinking  about  it.  There  is  an  American, 
George,  who  has  reasoned  it  out  like  this,  and  I  agree 
with  him  —  " 

"  You  are  the  master,  so  you  give  it  away  if  you  wish. 
As  you  will  it,"  said  the  angry  old  man. 

This   interruption    annoyed    Nekhlyudov,    but,  to   his 


BESTTRRECTION  339 

delight,  he  noticed  that  the  others  were  also  dissatisfied 
with  this  interruption. 

"Wait,  Uncle  Semen,  let  him  tell  it,"  the  thoughtful 
peasant  said,  in  his  impressive  bass. 

This  encouraged  Nekhlyiidov,  and  he  began  to  expound 
to  them  Henry  George's  theory  of  the  Single-tax.  "  The 
land  is  nobody's,  it  is  the  Lord's,"  he  began. 

"  That  is  so.     Yes,  sir,"  several  voices  interposed. 

"All  the  land  is  a  common  possession.  Everybody  has 
an  equal  right  to  it.  But  there  is  better  and  worse  land, 
and  everybody  wants  to  get  the  good  land.  What  is  to 
be  done,  in  order  to  equalize  tilings  ?  Let  him  who 
owns  a  good  piece  of  land  pay  the  price  of  it  to  those 
who  have  none,"  Nekhlyudov  answered  liis  own  question. 
"  And  as  it  is  hard  to  determine  who  is  to  pay,  and  to 
whom  he  is  to  pay,  and  as  money  has  to  be  collected  for 
common  purposes,  it  ought  to  be  arranged  in  such  a 
manner  that  he  who  owns  a  piece  of  land  should  pay  the 
value  of  his  land  to  the  Commune  for  all  public  purposes. 
Then  all  will  have  equal  chances.  If  you  wish  to  own 
land,  pay  more  for  good  land,  and  less  for  less  good  land. 
And  if  you  do  not  wish  to  own  any  land,  you  pay  noth- 
ing ;  but  the  taxes  for  the  common  needs  will  be  paid  by 
those  who  own  the  land." 

"  That  is  correct,"  said  the  oven-builder,  moving  his  eye- 
brows.    "  He  who  has  the  better  land  ought  to  pay  more." 

"  George  had  a  great  head,"  said  the  representative  old 
man  with  the  curls. 

"  If  only  the  pay  will  be  within  our  reach,"  said  the 
tall  man  with  the  bass  voice,  evidently  beginning  to  make 
out  what  it  all  tended  to. 

"  The  pay  ought  to  be  neither  too  high  nor  too  low. 
If  it  is  too  high,  it  will  not  pay,  and  there  will  be  losses ; 
and  if  too  low,  all  will  begin  to  buy  the  land  of  each 
other  and  there  will  be  speculation  in  land.  I  want  to 
introduce  these  orders  among  you." 


340  RESURRECTION 

"  That  is  correct,  that  is  right.  That  would  be  well," 
said  the  peasants. 

"  He  had  a  great  head,"  repeated  the  broad-chested  man 
with  the  curls,  "  that  George.  He  has  thought  it  out 
well." 

"  How  would  it  be  if  I  wished  to  take  a  piece  of  land," 
the  clerk  said,  smiling. 

"  If  there  is  a  free  lot,  take  it  and  work  it,"  said 
Nekhlyildov. 

"  You  do  not  need  it.  You  have  enough  to  eat  as  it 
is,"  said  the  old  man  with  the  smiling  eyes. 

This  ended  the  consultation. 

Nekhlyiidov  again  repeated  his  proposition ;  he  did  not 
ask  for  an  immediate  answer,  but  advised  them  to  talk 
the  matter  over  with  the  whole  village,  and  then  to  come 
and  give  him  an  answer.  The  peasants  promised  they 
would  do  so,  and,  bidding  him  good-bye,  went  away  in  an 
agitated  mood.  On  the  road  could  long  be  heard  their 
loud,  receding  conversation.  Their  voices  dinned  until 
late  into  the  evening,  and  were  borne  along  the  river  from 
the  village. 

On  the  following  day  the  peasants  did  not  work,  but 
considered  the  master's  proposition.  The  village  was 
divided  into  two  parties :  one  found  the  master's  propo- 
sition profitable  and  harmless ;  the  other  saw  in  it  some 
deception,  the  significance  of  which  they  could  not  com- 
prehend, and  of  which  they  consequently  were  especially 
afraid.  Two  days  later  they,  however,  agreed  to  accept 
the  proposed  conditions,  and  came  to  Nekhlyiidov  to 
announce  to  him  the  decision  of  the  Commune.  This 
decision  was  greatly  influenced  by  the  opinion  of  an 
old  woman,  which  the  old  men  accepted  as  putting  aside 
all  fear  of  deception,  and  which  consisted  in  explaining 
the  master's  act  as  arising  from  his  meditating  on  his  soul 
and  desiring  to  save  it.     This  explanation  was  also  con- 


RESURRECTION  341 

firmed  by  the  considerable  monetary  alms  which  Nekh- 
lyiidov  had  distributed  during  his  stay  at  Pauovo.  His 
contributions  of  money  were  due  to  the  fact  that  here  he 
had  for  the  first  time  found  out  the  extreme  degree  of 
poverty  and  misery  which  the  peasants  had  reached,  and 
that,  though  he  knew  it  to  be  unwise,  he  was  so  struck 
by  that  poverty  that  he  could  not  help  giving  them 
money,  of  which  he  just  then  had  a  large  sum,  having 
received  some  for  the  forest  at  Kuzmiuskoe,  sold  a  year 
ago,  and  also  an  earnest  for  the  sale  of  the  chattels. 

The  moment  they  discovered  that  the  master  gave 
money  to  those  who  asked  for  it,  crowds  of  people,  espe- 
cially women,  began  to  come  to  him  from  all  the  sur- 
rounding country,  imploring  aid.  He  was  at  a  complete 
loss  what  to  do  with  them,  and  by  what  to  be  guided  in 
the  solution  of  the  question  how  much  to  give,  and  to 
whom.  He  felt  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  not  to 
give  to  those  who  asked  him  and  obviously  were  poor, 
while  he  had  a  great  deal  of  money ;  at  the  same  time 
there  was  no  sense  in  giving  at  haphazard  to  those  who 
begged  him  for  it. 

During  the  last  day  of  his  stay  at  Panovo,  Nekhlyudov 
went  into  the  house,  and  began  to  examine  the  things 
that  were  left  in  there.  Piummaging  through  them,  he 
discovered  many  letters  in  the  lower  drawer  of  his  aunts' 
old  big-bellied  red  wood  chifibuifere  with  bronze  rings  in 
lion  heads,  and  among  them  was  a  photograph  repre- 
senting a  group,  Sofya  Ivanovna,  Marya  Ivanovna,  him- 
self as  a  student,  and  Katyusha,  clean,  fresh,  cheerful,  and 
full  of  life.  Of  all  things  that  were  in  the  house  Nekh- 
lyiidov  took  only  the  letters  and  this  picture.  Everything 
else  he  left  for  the  miller,  who,  at  the  intercession  of  the 
smihng  clerk,  bought  the  house  for  removal  and  all 
the  furniture  of   Panovo  at  one-tenth   their  real  value. 

Eecalling  his  feeling  of  regret  at  the  loss  of  his  prop- 
erty, which  he  had  experienced  at  Kuzminskoe,  Nekhlyii- 


342  RESURRECTION 

dov  wondered  how  it  was  he  could  have  had  such  a 
teeling  ;  now  he  experienced  an  unceasing  joy  of  liberation 
and  a  sensation  of  novelty,  such  as  a  traveller  must 
experience  upon  discovering  new  lands. 


X. 

The  city  impressed  Nekhlyiidov  in  an  extremely  strange 
and  novel  way,  as  he  now  reached  it.  He  drove  in  the 
evening,  when  the  lamps  were  all  lighted,  from  the  sta- 
tion to  his  house.  There  was  still  an  odour  of  naphthalene 
in  all  the  rooms.  Agraf^na  Petrovua  and  Korn^y  both 
felt  worried  and  dissatisfied,  and  had  even  had  a  quarrel 
on  account  of  thp  cleaning  up  of  things,  the  use  of  which 
seemed  only  to  consist  in  being  hung  out,  dried  up,  and 
put  away  again.  Nekhlyiidov's  room  was  not  occupied, 
but  not  yet  tidied  ;  it  was  hard  to  move  about  in  it  among 
the  many  boxes,  and  it  was  evident  that  Nekhlyudov's 
arrival  interfered  with  their  work,  which  was  carried  on 
in  these  apartments  by  a  certain  strange  inertia.  After 
the  impressions  of  the  dire  want  in  the  village,  all  this 
appeared  to  Nekhlyudov  so  disagreeable  because  of  its 
apparent  senselessness,  of  which  he  had  once  himself  been 
guilty,  that  he  decided  the  next  day  to  move  to  a  hotel, 
leaving  Agraf(5na  Petrovna  to  fix  things  according  to  her 
wishes  until  the  arrival  of  his  sister,  who  would  make 
the  final  dispositions  in  regard  to  everything  in  the 
house. 

Nekhlyudov  left  the  house  early  in  the  morning.  In 
an  establishment  with  modest,  somewhat  dirty,  furnished 
rooms,  which  he  found  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
prison,  he  rented  a  suite  of  two  rooms,  and,  having 
given  orders  about  the  transfer  of  certain  things  set  aside 
in  the  house,  he  went  to  the  lawyer. 

It  was  cold  outside.  After  the  storms  and  rains  there 
was  a  cold  spell,  as  generally  happens  in  spring.     It  was 

343 


344  RESURRECTION 

80  chilly  and  the  wind  was  so  penetrating  that  Nekh- 
lyildov  froze  in  his  light  overcoat,  and  increased  his  gait, 
hoping  to  get  warm. 

Before  his  imagination  rose  the  village  people,  the 
women,  children,  and  old  men,  the  poverty  and  exhaus- 
tion of  whom  he  now  seemed  to  have  noticed  for  the 
first  time,  especially  the  smiling,  old-looking  baby,  twist- 
ing its  calfless  little  legs,  —  and  he  involuntarily  com- 
pared with  them  that  which  was  in  the  city.  Walking 
past  butcher-shops,  fish- markets,  and  clothing-stores,  he 
was  startled,  as  though  he  saw  it  for  the  first  time,  by 
the  well-fed  appearance  of  such  an  immense  number 
of  clean  and  fat  shopkeepers.  There  was  not  such  a  man 
in  the  whole  village.  These  people  were  evidently  firmly 
convinced  that  efforts  to  cheat  people,  who  knew  nothing 
of  their  wares,  were  not  only  not  a  vain,  but  even  a  useful, 
occupation.  Just  as  well-fed  were  the  coachmen  with 
their  broad  backs  and  buttons  on  their  backs  ;  and  so  were 
the  porters  in  their  gallooned  caps,  and  the  chambermaids 
in  their  aprons  and  curly  hair,  and  more  especially  the 
dashing  cabmen  with  their  shaven  napes,  who  were  sit- 
ting jauntily  in  their  cabs,  contemptuously,  and  disso- 
lutely watching  the  itinerants. 

In  all  these  people  he  involuntarily  saw  the  same 
village  people  who,  being  deprived  of  the  laud,  had  been 
driven  to  the  city.  Some  of  these  had  managed  to  adapt 
themselves  to  the  conditions  of  city  life,  and  had  become 
like  masters,  and  were  satisfied  with  their  situation ; 
others  again  fell  in  the  city  into  worse  conditions  than  in 
the  village,  and  were  even  more  pitiable.  Such  miserable 
creatures  seemed  to  Nekhlyiidov  to  be  the  shoemakers, 
whom  Nekhlyiidov  saw  working  in  the  window  of  a  base- 
ment ;  just  as  miserable  were  the  haggard,  pale,  dishevelled 
laundresses,  who,  with  their  lean,  bared  arms,  were  ironing 
at  open  windows,  from  which  the  soap-filled  steam  was 
rising  in   clouds.      Just  as    miserable   were  two  house- 


EESURRECTION  346 

painters  whom  Nekhlyudov  met,  in  aprons,  in  torn  shoes 
on  bare  feet,  and  daubed  from  head  to  foot  with  paint. 
Their  sleeves  were  rolled  up  above  their  elbows,  and  in 
their  sunburnt,  venous,  feeble  hands  they  were  carrying 
a  bucket  of  paint,  and  kept  cursing  without  interruption. 
Their  faces  were  emaciated  and  angry.  The  same  expres- 
sion was  to  be  seen  on  the  dusty,  swarthy  draymen, 
shaking  on  their  wagons.  The  same  expression  was  on 
the  swollen  faces  of  the  ragged  men  and  women  standing 
with  their  children  at  the  street  corners  and  begging  alms. 
The  same  faces  were  to  be  seen  in  the  open  windows  of 
the  inn,  past  which  Nekhlyudov  happened  to  go.  At  the 
dirty  little  tables,  with  bottles  and  tea-service  upon  them, 
between  which  waiters  in  white  kept  bobbing,  sat  per- 
spiring red-faced  men  with  stupefied  faces,  crying  and 
singing  in  loud  voices.  One  was  sitting  near  the  window  ; 
had  raised  his  eyebrows,  and,  thrusting  forward  his  lips, 
gazed  in  front  of  him,  as  though  trying  to  recollect 
something. 

"  Why  have  they  all  gathered  there  ?  "  thought  Nekh- 
lyudov, involuntarily  inhaling  with  the  dust,  which  the 
chill  wind  wafted  against  him,  the  ubiquitous  odour  of 
rancid  oil  in  the  fresh  paint. 

In  one  of  the  streets  he  came  across  a  procession  of 
drays  hauling  some  iron  pieces,  which  made  such  a  terrible 
noise  on  the  uneven  pavement  that  his  ears  and  head 
began  to  ache.  He  increased  his  steps,  in  order  to  get 
ahead  of  the  procession,  when  suddenly  he  heard  his 
name  through  the  rumble  of  the  iron.  He  stopped  and 
saw  a  few  steps  ahead  of  him  an  officer  with  a  sharp- 
pointed,  waxed  moustache,  with  a  smooth,  shining  face, 
who,  sitting  in  a  cab,  waved  his  hand  to  him  in  a  friendly 
manner,  displaying  by  his  smile  a  row  of  extremely 
white   teeth. 

"  Nekhlyudov,  is  it  you  ?  " 

Nekhlyudov's  first  sensation  was  that  of  pleasure. 


346  RESUKRECTION 

"  Ah,  Sh^nbok,"  he  said,  with  delight,  but  immediately 
considered  that  there  was  no  reason  whatsoever  to  be 
pleased. 

It  was  the  same  Sh^ubok  who  had  then  called  for  him 
at  his  aunts'.  Nekhlyudov  had  long  ago  lost  him  out  of 
sight,  but  had  heard  of  him  that  he  was  now  in  the 
cavalry,  and  that,  in  spite  of  his  debts,  he  managed  in 
some  way  to  hold  himself  in  the  world  of  rich  people. 
His  satisfied,  cheerful  aspect  confirmed  this  intelligence. 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  have  caught  you.  For  there  is  no- 
body in  the  city.  Well,  friend,  you  have  grown  older," 
he  said,  stepping  out  of  the  cab,  and  straightening  out  his 
shoulders.  "  I  recognized  you  by  your  gait.  Well,  shall 
we  dine  together  ?  Where  can  one  get  a  good  dinner 
here  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  have  the  time," 
answered  Nekhlyudov,  thinkiug  only  of  how  to  get  rid  of 
his  comrade  without  offending  him. 

"  What  are  you  here  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Business,  my  friend.  A  business  of  guardianship.  I 
am  a  guardian.  I  manage  Samanov's  affairs.  Do  you 
know  that  rich  man  ?  He  is  cracked,  but  he  has  fifty- 
four  thousand  desyatinas  of  land,"  he  said,  with  especial 
pride,  as  though  he  himself  h^d  earned  all  that  land. 
"  His  affairs  had  been  dreadfully  neglected.  The  whole 
land  was  in  the  hands  of  the  peasants.  They  paid 
nothing,  and  there  were  back  dues  to  the  amount  of 
eighty  thousand  roubles.  I  changed  the  whole  matter  in 
one  year,  and  increased  the  trust  by  seventy  per  cent. 
Eh  ? "  he  asked  him  proudly. 

Nekhlyudov  recalled  that  he  had  heard  that  this 
Sh^ubok,  for  the  very  reason  that  he  had  lost  all  his 
property  and  had  unpaid  debts,  had  by  some  special  influ- 
ence been  appointed  a  guardian  over  the  property  of  a 
rich  old  man,  who  was  squandering  his  estate.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  thriving  on  his  trust. 


RESURRECTION  347 

"  How  can  I  get  rid  of  him  without  offending  him  ? " 
thought  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  that  sleek,  plump  face, 
with  the  pomaded  moustache,  and  listening  to  his  good- 
hearted  friendly  prattle  about  where  one  could  get  a  good 
dinner,  and  how  he  had  managed  the  affairs  of  his  trust. 

"  So  where  shall  we  dine  ?  " 

"I  have  no  time,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  his 
watch. 

"  I  say.  There  will  be  races  to-night.  Shall  you  be 
there  ? " 

"  No,  I  sha'n't." 

"  Do  come.  I  have  no  longer  horses  of  my  own,  but 
I  bet  on  Grishin's.  Do  you  remember  him  ?  He  has  a 
good  stable.     So  come,  and  let  us  have  supper  together." 

"  I  can't  even  eat  supper  with  you,"  Nekhlyudov  said, 
smiling. 

"  What  is  that  ?  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  If  you 
want  to,  I  shall  take  you  there." 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  a  lawyer.  He  lives  around  the 
corner,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Oh,  you  are  doing  something  in  the  prison.  Have 
you  become  a  prison  intercessor  ?  The  Korchagins  told 
me  about  that,"  Sh^nbok  said,  smiling.  "  They  have  left 
town  already.     What  is  it  ?     Tell  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  all  true,"  rephed  Nekhlyudov.  "  But 
I  can't  tell  you  that  in  the  street." 

"  That's  so,  you  have  always  been  odd.  So,  will  you 
come  to  the  races  ? " 

"  No,  I  cannot,  and  I  do  not  want  to.  Please,  do  not 
be  angry  at  me." 

"  Why  should  I  be  angry  ?  Where  do  you  live  ? "  he 
asked,  and  suddenly  his  face  became  serious,  his  eyes 
stood  still,  and  his  brows  were  raised  up.  He  was  appar- 
ently trying  to  recall  the  address,  and  Nekhlyudov  sud- 
denly observed  the  same  dull  expression  in  him  that  he 
had  noticed  in  the  man  with  the  raised  eyebrows  and  pro- 


348  RESURRECTION 

truding  lips,  which  had  struck  him  in  the  window  of  the 
inn, 

"  How  chilly  it  is !     Eh  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes ! " 

"  You  have  the  bundles  ? "  Sh^nbok  addressed  the 
cabman. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  then.  I  am  very,  very  glad  to  have 
met  you,"  he  said,  and,  firmly  pressing  Nekhlyiidov's 
hand,  he  leaped  into  the  vehicle,  waving  his  broad  hand 
in  a  new,  white,  chamois-skin  glove  in  front  of  his  sleek 
face,  and  smiling  a  habitual  smile  with  his  unusually  white 
teeth. 

"Is  it  possible  I  was  like  him?"  thought  Nekhlyiidov, 
continuing  on  his  way  to  the  lawyer.  "  Yes,  if  not  exactly 
like  him,  I  had  tried  to  be  like  him,  and  had  thought  to 
pass  all  my  life  that  way." 


XI. 

The  lawyer  received  Nekhlyildov  ahead  of  his  turn, 
and  at  once  proceeded  to  talk  to  him  about  the  Menshov 
case,  which  he  had  read  immediately,  and  which  had  pro- 
voked his  indignation  by  its  groundless  accusation. 

"  It  is  a  shocking  affair,"  he  said.  "  Very  hkely  the 
fire  was  started  by  the  owner  himself,  in  order  to  get  his 
insurance  money,  but  the  worst  is  that  the  guilt  of  the 
Menshdvs  has  not  at  all  been  proven.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence at  all.  This  is  due  to  the  especial  zeal  of  the  exam- 
ining magistrate  and  to  the  neghgence  of  the  prosecuting 
attorney.  If  the  case  came  up,  not  in  the  county  court, 
but  here,  I  should  guarantee  an  acquittal  and  ask  for  no 
remuneration.  Now,  the  other  affair,  the  petition  of 
Feoddsya  Biryukov  to  his  Majesty,  is  ready.  If  you  go  to 
St.  Petersburg,  take  it  with  you,  and  hand  it  in  in  person, 
and  ask  for  its  consideration.  Otherwise  an  inquiry  will 
be  made,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it.  You  must  try 
and  reach  people  who  have  influence  in  the  Petition  Com- 
mission.    Well,  is  that  all  for  the  present  ? " 

"  No,  I  have  had  a  letter  —  " 

"  I  see  you  have  become  a  funnel,  a  neck  of  a  bottle, 
through  which  the  complaints  are  poured  out  from  prison," 
the  lawyer  said,  smiling.  "  It  is  too  much ;  it  will  be 
above  your  strength." 

"  But  this  is  a  startling  case,"  said  Nekhlyudov.  He 
briefly  told  the  essence  of  the  case,  which  was  that  an 
intelligent  peasant  had  been  reading  and  expounding  the 
Gospel  to  his  friends  in  the  village.  The  clergy  regarded 
it  as  a  crime.     He  was  denounced.     The  magistrate  ex- 

349 


350  hesurrectiok 

amiued  him,  the  assistant  prosecuting  attorney  wrote  out 
an  accusation  —  and  the  court  confirmed  the  accusation. 

"  This  is  something  terrible,"  said  Nekhlyudov.  "  Can 
it  be  true  ? " 

"  What  is  it  that  so  surprises  you  ? " 

"  Everything.  I  can  see  how  the  village  officer,  who  is 
under  orders,  might  do  it ;  but  the  assistant  prosecuting 
attorney,  who  wrote  out  the  accusation,  is  an  educated 
man  —  " 

"  But  tliis  is  where  the  mistake  is  made :  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  think  that  the  prosecuting  attorneys,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  courts  in  general,  are  a  kind  of  new,  liberal 
men.  That  was  once  the  case,  but  now  it  is  quite  differ- 
ent. They  are  officials,  who  are  interested  only  in  the 
twentieth  of  each  month.  They  receive  their  salary,  and 
they  need  more,  and  that  is  the  limit  of  their  principles. 
They  will  accuse,  try,  and  sentence  anybody  you  please." 

"  Do  there  really  exist  laws,  which  permit  them  to 
deport  a  man  for  reading  the  Gospel  in  company  with 
others  ? " 

"  Not  only  may  he  be  sent  to  nearer  districts,  but  even 
to  hard  labour  in  Siberia,  if  it  is  proved  that,  while 
reading  the  Gospel,  he  allowed  himself  to  expound  it 
differently  from  the  manner  he  is  ordered  to  do,  and  that, 
consequently,  he  has  disapproved  of  the  exposition  of  the 
Church.  It  is  considered  blasphemy  of  the  Orthodox 
faith  in  presence  of  the  people,  and,  according  to  Article 
196,  this  means  deportation  to  Siberia  for  settlement." 

"  That  is  impossible." 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  truth.  I  always  say  to  the 
judicial  people,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "  that  I  cannot 
help  looking  gratefully  at  them,  because  it  is  only  due  to 
their  kindness  that  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  are  not 
in  jail.  It  is  the  easiest  thing  imaginable  to  have  us  sen- 
tenced to  the  loss  of  special  privileges,  and  have  us  de- 
ported to  nearer  regions." 


RESURRECTION  351 

"  If  it  is  so,  and  everything  depends  on  the  arbitrari- 
ness of  the  prosecuting  attorney  and  of  other  persons,  who 
may  or  may  not  apply  a  certain  law,  then  what  is  the 
court  for  ? " 

The  lawyer  burst  out  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  You  are  propounding  fine  questions  !  This,  my  friend, 
is  philosophy.  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  discussing  that. 
Come  on  Saturday.  You  will  find  at  my  house  learned 
men,  htterateurs,  artists.  Then  we  shall  discuss  these 
social  questions,"  said  the  lawyer,  pronouncing  the  words 
"  social  questions "  with  ironical  pathos.  "  You  are  ac- 
quainted with  my  wife,  I  think.     So  come  ! " 

"  I  shall  try  to,"  replied  Nekhlyildov,  being  conscious 
cf  telling  a  He,  and  that  if  there  was  anything  he  would 
try  it  would  be  not  to  be  in  the  evening  at  the  lawyer's 
in  the  company  of  the  learned  men,  litterateurs,  and 
artists,  who  would  gath-er  there.  The  laughter  with 
which  the  lawyer  had  answered  ISTelvhlyiidov's  remark 
that  the  court  had  no  meaning,  if  the  members  of  the 
court  may  or  may  not  apply  a  law  as  they  are  minded 
to  do,  and  the  intonation  with  which  he  pronounced  the 
words  "  philosophy  "  and  "  social  questions,"  showed  Nekh- 
lyudov  how  differently  he  and  the  lawyer  and,  no  doubt, 
the  lawyer's  friends  looked  at  things,  and  how,  notwith- 
standing the  present  gulf  between  him  and  his  former 
comrades,  such  as  Sh&bok,  he  felt  himself  even  farther 
removed  from  the  lawyer  and  the  people  of  his  circle. 


xn. 

It  was  far  to  the  prison,  aud  late,  so  Nekhlyildov  took 
a  cab.  In  one  of  the  streets  the  cabman,  a  man  of 
middle  age,  with  an  intelligent  and  kindly  face,  turned 
to  Nekhlyvidov  aud  pointed  to  an  immense  house  which 
was  going  up. 

"  See  what  an  enormcus  house  they  are  building,"  he 
said,  as  though  he  had  a  share  in  this  structure  and  were 
proud  of  it. 

Indeed  it  was  a  huge  building,  aud  built  in  a  compli- 
cated and  unusual  style.  A  solid  scaffolding  of  immense 
pine  timbers,  held  together  by  iron  clamps,  surrounded 
the  structure  which  was  going  up,  and  it  was  separated 
from  the  street  by  a  board  fence.  Workmen,  daubed 
with  mortar,  were  rushing  to  and  fro,  like  ants,  over  the 
walks  of  the  scaffolding :  some  were  laying  stones,  others 
were  cutting  them  into  shape,  while  others  carried  full 
hods  and  barrels  up  and  empty  ones  down  again.  A 
stout,  well-dressed  gentleman,  apparently  the  architect, 
standing  near  the  scaffolding  and  pointing  up,  was  saying 
something  to  a  respectfully  listening  Vladimir  contractor. 
Through  the  gate,  past  the  architect  and  contractor,  empty 
wagons  drove  out  into  the  street,  and  loaded  ones  into 
the  yard. 

"  How  sure  they  all  are,  both  those  who  work,  and 
those  who  make  them  work,  tliat  it  must  all  be  thus, 
that  while  their  pregnant  women  do  work  at  home  above 
their  strength,  and  their  children,  in  skull-caps,  before 
their  imminent  death  from  starvation,  smile  like  old 
people,  and  twist  their  little  legs,  they  must  build  this 

362 


KESUKRECTION  353 

stupid  and  useless  palace  for  some  stupid  and  useless 
man,  —  one  of  those  very  men  who  ruin  and  rob  them," 
thought  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  this  house. 

"  Yes,  a  fool's  house,"  he  loudly  expressed  his  thought. 

"  How  a  fool's  house  ? "  the  cabman  protested,  as 
though  insulted.  "  It  gives  people  work  to  do,  and  so  it 
is  not  a  fool's  house." 

"  But  this  is  useless  work." 

"  It  must  be  useful,  or  they  would  not  build  it,"  re- 
torted the  cabman,  "  and  the  people  earn  a  living." 

Nekhlyudov  grew  silent,  especially  since  it  was  not 
possible  to  carry  on  a  conversation  through  the  rattle  of 
the  wheels.  Not  far  from  the  prison  the  cabman  left  the 
pavement  for  a  country  road,  so  that  it  was  easy  to  talk, 
and  he  again  turned  to  Nekhlyudov. 

"  What  a  lot  of  people  nowadays  rush  to  the  city,  — 
it  is  just  dreadful,"  he  said,  turning  on  his  box  and  point- 
ing to  an  artel  of  village  workmen  with  files,  axes,  short 
fur  coats,  and  bundles  on  their  backs,  who  were  coming 
toward  them. 

"  Are  there  more  of  them  than  on  previous  years  ? " 
asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  It  is  simply  terrible  the  way  they  are  crowding  now 
in  all  places.  The  masters  fling  them  around  like  chips. 
They  are  everywhere." 

"  Why  is  it  so  ? " 

"  They  have  increased  so  much.  There  is  no  place  for 
them." 

"  What  of  it  if  they  have  increased  ?  Why  don't  they 
stay  in  the  villages  ? " 

"What  are  they  to  do  in  the  villages?  There  is  no 
land  there." 

Nekhlyudov  experienced  a  sensation  which  one  has  in 
a  bruised  spot.  One  seems  eternally  to  strike  it,  as 
though  on  purpose,  whereas  one  merely  feels  the  hurts 
in  the  painful  places. 


354  KESUKEECTION 

"  Is  it  possible  it  is  the  same  everywhere  ? "  he  thought. 
He  began  to  inquire  of  the  cabman  how  much  land  there 
was  in  his  village,  how  much  he  himself  had,  and  why- 
he  was  living  in  the  city. 

"  There  is  about  a  desyatina  to  each  soul,  sir.  There 
are  three  of  us  holding  it,"  the  cabman  was  glad  to  inform 
him.  "I  have  a  father  and  a  brother  at  home;  another 
brother  is  in  the  army.  They  manage  the  farm.  But 
there  is  nothing  to  manage,  and  so  my  brother  wanted 
to  go  to  Moscow." 

"  Is  it  not  possible  to  rent  land  ? " 

"  Where  is  one  to  rent  it  ?  The  masters  have  squan- 
dered theirs.  The  merchants  have  got  it  all  into  their 
hands.  You  can't  buy  it  from  them,  for  they  are  work- 
ing it  themselves.  There  is  a  Frenchman  on  our  estate. 
He  has  bought  it  from  the  former  master,  and  he  won't 
let  anybody  have  it,  and  that  is  the  end  of  it." 

"  What  Frenchman  ?  " 

"  Dufar  the  Frenchman.  Maybe  you  have  heard  his 
name.  He  makes  wigs  for  the  actors  in  the  large  theatre, 
and  that  is  a  good  business  in  which  he  has  made  much 
money.  He  has  bought  our  lady's  whole  estate.  Now 
he  rules  over  us.  He  rides  us  as  he  pleases.  Fortunately, 
he  is  a  good  man.  Only  his  wife,  who  is  a  Eussian,  is 
such  a  dog  that  God  save  us  from  her.  She  robs  the 
people.  It  is  just  terrible.  Well,  here  is  the  prison. 
Where  do  you  wish  me  to  drive  you  ?  To  the  entrance  ? 
I  think  they  don't  admit  now." 


XIII. 

With  faint  heart  and  terror  at  the  thought  of  how  he 
would  find  Maslova  now,  and  with  that  feeling  of  mys- 
tery which  he  experienced  before  her  and  before  that 
congeries  of  people  who  were  in  this  prison,  Nekhlyudov 
rang  the  bell  at  the  main  entrance,  and  asked  the  warden, 
who  came  out  to  him,  about  Maslova.  The  warden  made 
inquiries,  and  informed  him  that  she  was  in  the  hospital. 
A  kind-hearted  old  man,  the  watchman  of  the  hospi- 
tal, immediately  admitted  him,  and,  upon  learning  who 
it  was  he  wanted  to  see,  directed  him  to  the  children's 
division. 

A  young  doctor,  all  saturated  with  carbolic  acid,  came 
out  to  Nekhlyudov  in  the  corridor,  and  sternly  asked  him 
what  he  wanted.  This  doctor  was  very  indulgent  with 
the  prisoners,  and  so  he  continually  had  unpleasant  con- 
flicts with  the  authorities  of  the  prison,  and  even  with 
the  senior  physician.  Fearing  lest  Nekhlyudov  should 
ask  something  illegal  of  him,  and,  besides,  wishing  to 
show  that  he  made  no  exceptions  of  any  persons,  he 
pretended  to  be  angry. 

"  There  are  no  women  here ;  this  is  the  children's  de- 
partment," he  said. 

"  I  know ;  but  there  is  here  an  attendant  who  has  been 
transferred  from  the  prison." 

"  Yes,  there  are  two  here.     So  what  do  you  wish  ? " 

"  I  have  close  relations  with  one  of  them,  Maslova," 
said  Nekhlyudov.  "  I  should  like  to  see  her :  I  am  going 
to  St.  Petersburg  to  enter  an  appeal  in  her  case,  and  I 

356 


356  RESURRECTION    . 

wanted  to  give  her  this.     It  is  only  a  photograph,"  said 
Nekhlyudov,  taking  out  an  envelope  from  his  pocket. 

"  Well,  you  may  do  that,"  said  the  doctor,  softening, 
and^  turning  to  an  old  woman  in  a  white  apron,  he  told 
her  to  call  the  attendant,  prisoner  Maslova. 

"  Do  you  not  wish  to  sit  down  or  walk  into  the  waiting- 
room  ? " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  and,  making  use  of 
the  doctor's  favourable  change,  he  asked  him  whether 
they  were  satisfied  in  the  prison  with  Maslova. 

"  She  will  pass.  She  works  fairly  well,  considering  the 
conditions  under  which  she  has  been,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  And  here  she  is." 

From  one  of  the  doors  came  the  old  attendant,  and 
back  of  her  was  Maslova.  She  wore  a  white  apron  over 
a  striped  garment,  and  a  kerchief  on  her  head,  which  cov- 
ered all  her  hair.  Upon  noticing  Nekhlyudov,  her  face 
became  flushed,  and  she  stopped  as  though  in  indecision ; 
then  she  frowned,  and,  lowering  her  eyes,  walked  with 
rapid  steps  toward  him  over  the  corridor  strip.  As  she 
approached  Nekhlyudov,  she  had  intended  not  to  give 
him  her  hand,  but  she  did  extend  it  to  him,  and  blushed 
even  more.  Nekhlyudov  had  not  seen  her  since  the  con- 
versation with  her  when  she  had  excused  herself  for  her 
excitabihty,  and  he  expected  to  find  her  as  she  had  been 
then.  Now,  however,  she  was  quite  different,  and  in  the 
expression  of  her  face  there  was  something  new :  some- 
thing restrained,  bashful,  and,  as  Nekhlyudov  thought, 
something  hostile  toward  him.  He  repeated  to  her  what 
he  had  said  to  the  doctor,  that  he  was  going  to  St.  Peters- 
burg, and  handed  her  the  envelope  with  the  photograph, 
which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Panovo. 

"  I  found  this  at  Panovo.  It  is  an  old  photograph,  and 
may  give  you  pleasure.     Take  it." 

She  raised  her  black  eyebrows  in  surprise,  looked  at 
him  with  her  extremely  squinting  eyes,  as  though  to  say, 


RESUERECTION  357 

"  What  is  that  for  ? "  and  silently  took  the  envelope  and 
put  it  back  of  her  apron. 

"  I  saw  your  aunt  there,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  You  did  ?  "  she  said,  with  indifference. 

"  Are  you  well  here  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  said. 

"  Is  it  not  too  hard  ? " 

"  No,  not  very.     I  am  not  yet  used  to  it." 

"I  am  very  happy  for  your  sake.  In  any  case  it  is 
better  than  there." 

"  Than  where  ?  "  she  said,  and  her  face  was  flushed  with 
a  blush. 

"  There,  in  the  prison,"  Nekhlyudov  hastened  to  say. 

"  What  makes  it  better  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  think  the  people  are  better  here.  There  are  none 
here  as  there  were  there." 

"  There  are  many  good  people  there,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  taken  measures  for  the  Menshdvs,  and  I  hope 
they  will  be  released,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  God  grant  it.  She  is  such  a  charming  old  woman," 
she  said,  repeating  her  old  definition  of  the  woman,  and 
shghtly  smiling. 

"  I  shall  leave  for  St.  Petersburg  to-day.  Our  case 
will  soon  be  heard,  and  I  hope  the  verdict  will  be  set 
aside." 

"  Whether  it  will  be  or  not,  is  all  the  same  now,"  she 
said. 

"  Why  now  ? " 

"  It  is,"  she  said,  furtively  casting  a  questioning  glance 
at  him. 

Nekhlyudov  understood  these  words  and  this  glance  to 
mean  that  she  wanted  to  know  whether  he  still  stuck 
to  his  determination,  or  whether  he  had  accepted  her 
refusal  and  had  accordingly  changed  it. 

"  I  do  not  know  why  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,"  he  said. 
"  But  to  me  it  is  really  quite  the  same  whether  you  wiU 


358  KESURRECTION 

be  acquitted  or  not.  I  am  ready  in  any  case  to  do  what 
I  said  I  should,"  he  said,  with  determination. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  her  black,  squinting  eyes 
rested  on  his  face  and  past  it,  and  all  her  face  was  beam- 
ing with  joy.  But  she  spoke  something  quite  different 
from  what  her  eyes  were  saying. 

"  You  say  this  in  vain,"  she  said. 

"  I  say  it  that  you  may  know." 

"  You  have  said  everything,  and  there  is  nothing  else  to 
say,"  she  replied,  with  difficulty  restraining  a  smile. 

There  was  a  noise  in  the  hospital  room.  A  child's  cry 
was  heard. 

"  It  seems  they  are  calling  me,"  she  said,  looking  rest- 
lessly around. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  then,"  he  said. 

She  tried  to  look  as  though  she  had  not  noticed  the 
extended  hand,  and,  without  pressing  it,  she  turned  around 
and,  trying  to  conceal  her  victory,  with  rapid  strides  walked 
away  over  the  strip  of  the  corridor. 

"  What  is  going  on  within  her  ?  What  is  she  thinking 
about  ?  How  does  she  feel  ?  Does  she  want  to  test  me, 
or  can  she  really  not  forgive  me  ?  Can  she  not,  or  does 
she  not  wish  to  tell  me  all  she  thinks  and  feels  ?  Is  slie 
mollified,  or  hardened  ? "  Nekhlyudov  asked  himself,  and 
could  not  find  any  answers.  He  knew  this  much,  that 
she  had  changed,  and  that  an  important  transformation 
was  taking  place  within  her  soul,  and  this  transforma- 
tion connected  him  not  only  with  her  but  also  with 
Him,  in  whose  name  this  transformation  was  being  ac- 
complished. This  connection  induced  in  him  a  joyously 
ecstatic  and  contrite  condition. 

Upon  returning  to  the  room,  where  eight  children's 
beds  were  standing,  Maslova  began,  at  the  Sister's  re- 
quest, to  make  the  beds ;  in  bending  too  far  down  with 
the  sheet,  she  slipped  and  fell  down.  A  convalescent 
boy,  with  a  bandage  around  his  neck,  who  had  seen  her 


RESURRECTION  359 

fall,  began  to  laugh,  and  Maslova  herself  could  not  re- 
strain herself,  and  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  burst  into  such 
a  loud  and  contagious  laugh  that  several  children,  too, 
began  to  laugh,  and  the  Sister  scolded  her. 

"  Don't  yell  hke  that !  You  think  that  you  are  still 
there  where  you  have  been  !     Go  for  the  food  ! " 

Maslova  grew  silent  and,  taking  the  dishes,  went  where 
she  had  been  ordered,  but,  upon  casting  a  glance  at  the 
bandaged  boy,  who  was  not  permitted  to  laugh,  again 
snorted. 

Several  times  during  the  day,  whenever  Maslova  was 
left  alone,  she  pushed  the  photograph  out  of  the  envelope 
and  looked  at  it ;  but  only  in  the  evening,  after  her  day's 
work,  when  left  alone  in  the  room,  where  she  slept  with 
another  attendant,  she  drew  the  photograph  entirely  out 
of  its  envelope,  and  looked  long  and  fixedly  at  the  faded, 
yellowed  picture,  caressing  with  her  eyes  every  detail  of 
the  faces,  and  dresses,  and  the  steps  of  the  porch,  and  the 
bushes,  against  which  as  a  background  his,  her,  and 
the  aunts'  faces  had  been  thrown.  She  could  not  get 
enough  of  it,  especially  of  herself,  her  young,  beautiful 
face,  with  the  hair  coiling  around  the  forehead.  She 
looked  so  intently  at  it  that  she  did  not  notice  her  com- 
panion coming  into  the  room. 

"What  is  this?  Did  he  give  it  to  you?"  asked  the 
stout,  kindly  attendant,  bending  over  the  photograph. 

"  is  it  possible  it  is  you  ? " 

"  Who  else  ?  "  said  Maslova,  smiling,  and  looking  at  the 
face  of  her  companion. 

"  And  who  is  this  ?  Himself  ?    And  is  this  his  mother  ? " 

"  An  aunt.  Would  you  have  recognized  me  ?  "  asked 
Maslova. 

"  No.  Not  for  the  world  should  I  have  recognized  you. 
It  is  an  entirely  different  face.  I  suppose  ten  years  have 
elapsed  since  then." 

"  Not  years,  but  life,"  said  Maslova,  and  suddenly  all 


860  RESURRECTION 

her  animation  disappeared.  Her  face  grew  gloomy,  and 
a  wrinkle  cut  itself  between  her  eyebrows. 

"  I  suppose  '  there '  life  was  easy." 

"  Yes,  easy ! "  repeated  Maslova,  closing  her  eyes  and 
shaking  her  head.     "  Worse  than  hard  labour." 

"  How  so  ? " 

"  It  was  that  way  every  night,  from  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening  until  four  in  the  morning." 

"  Why,  then,  don't  they  give  it  up  ?  " 

"  They  want  to,  but  they  can't.  What  is  the  use  of  talk- 
ing about  it  ? "  said  Maslova.  She  jumped  up,  flung  the 
photograph  into  the  table  drawer,  and,  with  difficulty  re- 
pressing her  evil  tears,  ran  out  into  the  corridor,  slamming 
the  door  after  her.  As  she  had  been  looking  at  the  photo- 
graph, she  had  felt  herself  to  be  such  as  she  was  repre- 
sented there,  and  had  dreamed  of  how  happy  she  had  then 
been  and  could  be  with  liim  even  now.  The  words  of  her 
companion  reminded  her  of  what  she  now  was  and  had 
been  there,  reminded  her  of  all  the  horror  of  that  life, 
which  she  then  had  felt  but  dimly,  and  had  not  permitted 
herself  to  become  conscious  of. 

Now  only  did  she  recall  all  those  terrible  nights,  and 
especially  one  during  the  Butter-week,  when  she  had  been 
waiting  for  a  student,  who  had  promised  to  redeem  her. 
She  recalled  how  she  was  clad  in  a  dt^collet^  wine-stained, 
red  silk  dress,  with  a  red  ribbon  in  her  tangled  hair ;  how, 
being  tired  out  and  weakened  and  drunk,  she  saw  some 
guests  off  at  two  o'clock  in  the  night ;  and  how,  during 
an  interval  between  the  dances,  she  seated  herself  near 
the  lean,  bony,  pimpled  woman  who  played  the  accompa- 
niment to  the  fiddler,  and  complained  to  her  of  her  hard 
life ;  and  how  that  woman  herself  told  her  that  she  was 
tired  of  her  occupation  and  wished  to  change  it ;  and  how 
Klara  came  up  to  them,  and  they  suddenly  decided  all 
three  of  them  to  quit  this  life.  They  thought  that  the 
night  was  ended,  and  were  on  the  point  of  retiring,  when 


RESURRECTION  361 

suddenly  some  drunken  guests  made  a  stir  in  the  ante- 
chamber. The  fiddler  started  a  ritournelle,  and  the  woman 
began  to  strike  off  an  accompaniment  to  a  hilarious  Eus- 
siau  song  in  the  first  figure  of  a  quadrille ;  suddenly  a 
small,  drunken,  wine-sopped,  and  hiccoughing  man,  in  a 
white  tie  and  dress  coat,  which  he  later,  in  the  second 
figure,  took  off,  seized  her,  while  another,  a  stout  fellow, 
with  a  beard,  also  in  a  dress  coat  (they  had  just  arrived 
from  some  ball),  grasped  Klara,  and  for  a  long  time  they 
whirled,  danced,  cried,  drank  — 

And  thus  it  went  a  year,  two,  three  years.  How  can 
one  help  changing  ■  The  cause  of  all  that  was  he.  And 
within  her  rose  her  former  fury  against  him,  and  she 
wanted  to  scold  and  upbraid  him.  She  was  sorry  she  had 
missed  to-day  an  opportunity  of  telling  him  again  that 
she  knew  him,  and  that  she  would  not  submit  to  him, 
that  she  would  not  permit  him  to  use  her  spiritually  as 
he  had  used  her  physically,  that  she  would  not  permit 
him  to  make  her  an  object  of  his  magnanimity.  In  order 
in  some  measure  to  drown  that  tormenting  feeling  of 
regret  at  herself  and  of  uselessly  reproaching  him,  she 
wanted  some  liquor.  And  she  would  not  have  kept  her 
word,  and  would  have  drunk  it,  if  she  had  been  in  the 
prison.  But  here  it  was  not  possible  to  get  the  liquor 
except  from  the  surgeon's  assistant,  and  of  the  assistant 
she  was  afraid,  because  he  importuned  her  with  his  atten- 
tions. All  relations  with  men  were  distasteful  to  her. 
Having  sat  awhile  on  a  bench  in  the  corridor,  she  returned 
to  the  cell,  and,  without  replying  to  her  companion's  ques- 
tion, long  wept  over  her  ruined  life. 


XIV. 

At  St.  Petersburg,  Nekhlyudov  had  three  affairs  to 
attend  to :  Maslova's  appeal  to  the  Senate  for  annulment, 
Feddsya  Biryukov's  case  in  the  Petition  Commission,  and, 
at  Vy^ra  Bogodiikhovski's  request,  the  affair  in  the  Office 
of  the  Gendarmery,  or  the  Third  Division,  for  the  libera- 
tion of  Miss  Shiistov,  and  for  obtaining  an  interview  of  a 
mother  with  her  son,  who  was  kept  in  the  fortress,  as 
mentioned  in  Vy^^a  Bogodiikhovski's  note.  The  last  two 
cases  he  regarded  as  his  third  affair.  Then  there  was  a 
fourth  matter,  that  of  the  sectarians,  who  were  to  be  sent 
to  the  Caucasus  for  reading  and  expounding  the  Gospel. 
He  had  promised,  not  so  much  to  them  as  to  himself,  to 
do  everything  in  his  power  in  order  to  clear  up  this 
business. 

Since  his  last  visit  to  MasMnnikov's  house,  especially 
after  his  journey  to  the  country,  Nekhlyudov  not  so  much 
decided  to  disregard,  as  with  his  whole  being  felt  a  dis- 
gust for,  his  circle,  in  which  he  had  been  moving  until 
then,  —  for  that  circle,  from  which  the  suffering  that  is 
borne  by  millions  of  people  in  order  to  secure  comforts 
and  pleasures  to  a  small  number,  is  so  carefully  concealed 
that  the  people  belonging  to  that  circle  do  not  see,  nor 
ever  can  see,  this  suffering  and  the  consequent  cruelty 
and  criminality  of  their  own  lives.  Nekhlyudov  could 
not  now,  without  awkwardness  and  reproach  to  himself, 
converse  with  people  of  that  circle.  And  still,  the  habits 
of  all  his  former  life  drew  him  to  that  circle ;  and  he  was 
drawn  to  it  by  his  family  connections  and  by  his  friends ; 

362 


RESURRECTION  363 

but,  above  everything  else,  in  order  to  do  that  which  now 
interested  him,  in  order  to  help  Maslova  and  all  those 
sufferers  whom  he  wished  to  aid,  he  was  compelled  to 
invoke  the  aid  and  services  of  the  people  of  that  circle, 
whom  he  not  only  did  not  respect,  but  who  frequently 
roused  his  indignation  and  contempt. 

Upon  arriving  at  St.  Petersburg,  he  stopped  with  his 
maternal  aunt.  Countess  Charski,  the  wife  of  a  former 
minister,  and  thus  at  once  plunged  into  the  very  midst 
of  that  aristocratic  society  from  which  he  had  become 
estranged.  This  was  unpleasant  for  him,  but  he  could 
not  act  otherwise.  If  he  had  stopped  at  a  hotel,  and  not 
with  his  aunt,  she  would  have  been  offended,  whereas  his 
aunt  had  influential  connections,  and  could  'be  extremely 
useful  to  him  in  all  the  affairs  to  which  he  wished  to 
devote  himself. 

"  What  is  it  I  hear  about  you  ?  Marvellous  things," 
Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna  said  to  him,  treating  him 
to  coffee  soon  after  his  arrival.  "  Vous  posez  pour  un 
Howard.  You  are  aiding  criminals.  You  travel  about 
prisons.     You  are  mending  things." 

"  No,  I  do  not  even  think  of  it." 

"  Well,  that  is  good.  There  must  be  some  romance 
connected  with  it.     Tell  me  about  it." 

Nekhlyudov  told  her  about  his  relations  with  Maslova 
exactly  as  they  were. 

"  I  remember,  I  remember.  H^lfene  told  me  sometliing 
about  it  at  the  time  when  you  were  living  with  those  old 
ladies.  I  think  they  wanted  to  marry  you  to  that  ward 
of  theirs."  (The  Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna  had  always 
despised  those  paternal  aunts  of  Nekhlyvidov's.)  "  How  is 
she  ?     Mle  est  encore  j'olie  ?  " 

Aunt  Ekaterina  Ivanovna  was  a  woman  of  sixty  years 
of  age,  healthy,  gay,  energetic,  and  talkative.  She  was  of 
tall  stature  and  plump,  and  on  her  upper  lip  a  black 
moustache  was  discernible.     Nekhlyudov  liked  her,  and 


364  RESURRECTION 

ever  since  his  childhood  was  easily  infected  by  her  energy 
and  cheerfulness. 

"  No,  ma  tante,  all  that  is  ended.  I  only  want  to  help 
her,  because,  in  the  first  place,  she  has  been  unjustly  sen- 
tenced, and  because  I  am  to  blame  for  it,  I  am  to  blame 
for  her  whole  fate.  I  feel  myself  under  obligations  to  do 
all  I  can  for  her." 

"  But  I  have  been  told  that  you  want  to  marry  her  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  to,  but  she  does  not  consent." 

Ekaterina  Ivanovna,  smoothing  out  her  brow  and  lower- 
ing her  pupils,  looked  at  her  nephew  in  surprise  and 
silence.  Suddenly  her  countenance  was  changed,  and 
pleasure  was  expressed  upon  it. 

"  Well,  she  has  more  sense  than  you  have.  Oh,  what 
a  fool  you  are  !     And  you  would  have  married  her  ? " 

"  By  all  means." 

"  After  what  she  has  been  ? " 

"  So  much  the  more.     I  am  to  blame  for  it." 

"  No,  you  are  simply  a  dummy,"  his  aunt  said,  repress- 
ing a  smile.  "A  terrible  dummy,  but  I  love  you  for 
being  such  a  terrible  dummy,"  she  repeated,  evidently 
taking  a  liking  to  this  word,  which,  in  her  opinion,  pre- 
cisely rendered  tlie  mental  and  moral  condition  of  her 
nephew.  "  You  know  this  is  very  a  propos,"  she  con- 
tinued; "  Aline  has  a  remarkable  home  for  Magdalens. 
I  was  there  once.  They  are  horrid,  and  I  did  nothing 
but  wash  myself  afterward.  But  AHne  is  corps  et  dme 
in  it.  So  we  shall  send  that  woman  of  yours  to  her.  If 
anybody  is  to  mend  her  ways,  it  must  be  Aline." 

"  But  she  is  sentenced  to  hard  labour.  I  have  come 
here  to  appeal  from  this  verdict.  This  is  the  first  busi- 
ness I  have  with  you." 

"  Indeed  ?     Where  does  that  case  of  hers  go  to  ? " 

"  To  the  Senate." 

"  To  the  Senate  ?  Yes,  my  dear  cousin  Levushka  is  in 
the  Senate.    However,  lie  is  in  the  department  of  heraldry. 


KESURRECTION  S65 

I  do  not  know  any  of  the  real  Senators.  They  are  all 
God  knows  who,  or  Germans :  Ge,  Fe,  De,  tout  Valphahet, 
or  all  kinds  of  Ivanov,  Sem^nov,  Nikitin,  or  Ivan^nko, 
Simou(5nko,  Nikitenko,  pour  varier.  Des  gens  de  I'autre 
monde.  Still,  I  shall  tell  my  husband.  He  knows  them. 
He  knows  all  kinds  of  people.  I  shall  tell  him,  but  you 
had  better  explain  matters  to  him,  for  he  never  under- 
stands me.  Whatever  I  may  say,  he  says  he  does  not 
understand.  C'est  un  parti  pris.  Everybody  else  under- 
stands, but  he  does  not." 

Just  then  a  lackey  in  stockings  brought  a  letter  on  a 
silver  tray. 

"  Just  from  Aline.     You  will  hear  Kiesewetter  there." 

"  Who  is  that  Kiesewetter  ? " 

"  Kiesewetter  ?  You  go  there  to-day,  and  you  will  find 
out  who  he  is.  He  speaks  so  eloquently  that  the  most 
inveterate  criminals  kneel  down  and  weep  and  repent." 

Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna,  however  strange  this 
may  seem,  and  however  little  it  comported  with  her 
character,  was  a  fervent  adherent  of  the  doctrine  accord- 
ing to  which  the  essence  of  Christianity  consisted  in  the 
belief  in  the  redemption.  She  attended  meetings  where 
this  at  that  time  fashionable  doctrine  was  preached,  and 
gathered  these  devotees  about  her.  Notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  according  to  this  doctrine  all  ceremonies,  images, 
and  even  mysteries  were  denounced.  Countess  Ekaterina 
Ivanovna  had  holy  images  not  only  in  all  the  rooms,  but 
even  over  her  bed,  and  continued  to  comply  with  all 
the  demands  of  the  Church,  seeing  no  contradiction  in 
all  that. 

"  Your  Magdalen  ought  to  hear  him ;  she  would  be- 
come converted,"  said  the  countess.  "  You  must  be  at 
home  in  the  evening.  You  will  hear  him.  He  is  a  re- 
markable man." 

"  That  does  not  interest  me,  ma  tante." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  it  is  interesting.     And  you  be  sure 


366  RESUKRECTION 

and  go  there.     Tell  me  what  else  you  want  of  me  ?    Videz 
voire  sac." 

"  I  have  some  business  in  the  fortress." 

"  In  the  fortress  ?  Well,  I  can  give  you  a  note  to 
Baron  Kriegsmut.  C'est  un  tres  brave  homme.  You 
yourself  know  him.  He  was  a  comrade  of  your  father. 
II  donne  dans  le  spiritisme.  Well,  that  is  not  so  bad. 
He  is  a  good  fellow.     What  do  you  want  there  ? " 

"  I  want  to  ask  the  permission  for  a  mother  to  see  her 
son  who  is  confined  there.  But  I  have  been  told  that 
this  does  not  depend  on  Kriegsmut,  but  on  Chervyanski." 

"  I  do  not  like  Chervyanski,  but  he  is  Mariette's  hus- 
band. I  can  ask  her.  She  will  do  it  for  my  sake.  Elle 
est  tres  gentille." 

"  I  want  also  to  ask  about  a  woman.  She  has  been  in 
the  fortress  for  several  months,  and  nobody  knows 
why." 

"  Don't  tell  me  that.  She  certainly  knows  why.  They 
all  know.  It  serves  them  right,  those  short-haired 
ones." 

"  We  do  not  know  whether  right  or  not.  In  the  mean- 
time they  suffer.  You  are  a  Christian  and  believe  in  the 
Gospel,  and  yet  you  are  so  pitiless." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  Gospel  is  one 
thing,  and  what  we  do  despise  is  another.  It  would  be 
worse  if  I  should  pretend  loving  the  nihilists,  and  espe- 
cially short-haired  nihilists,  when,  in  reahty,  I  hate 
them." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  them  ? " 

"  Do  you  ask  me  why,  after  March  the  first  ? " 

"  But  not  all  of  them  have  taken  part  in  the  affair  of 
March  the  first." 

"  It  makes  no  difference :  let  them  keep  out  of  what 
does  not  concern  them.     That  is  not  a  woman's  business." 

"  But  here  is  Mariette,  who,  you  find,  may  attend  to 
business,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 


KESURRECTION  367 

"  Mariette  ?  Mariette  is  Mariette.  And  that  other  one 
is  God  knows  who,  —  some  Khalyiipkin  who  wants  to 
instruct  everybody." 

"  They  do  not  want  to  instruct  but  help  the  people." 

"  We  know  without  their  aid  who  is  to  be  helped  and 
who  not." 

"  But  the  people  are  suffering.  I  am  just  back  from 
the  country.  Is  it  right  that  the  peasants  should  work 
as  hard  as  they  can,  without  getting  enough  to  eat,  while 
we  live  in  terrible  luxury  ? "  said  Nekhlyiidov,  involun- 
tarily drawn  on  by  his  aunt's  good-heartedness  to  tell  her 
all  he  was  thinking. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  work  and  eat  nothing  ? " 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  you  to  starve,"  Nekhlyiidov  replied, 
with  an  involuntary  smile.  "  All  I  want  is  that  we  should 
all  work  and  have  enough  to  eat." 

His  aunt  again  lowered  her  brow  and  pupils,  resting 
them  on  him  with  curiosity. 

"  Mon  cher,  vous  finirez  mal,"  she  said. 

"  But  why  ?  " 

Just  then  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  general  entered  the 
room.  That  was  the  husband  of  the  countess,  Charski,  an 
ex-minister. 

"  Ah,  Dmitri,  good-morning,"  he  said,  offering  him  his 
freshly  shaven  cheek.     "  When  did  you  arrive  ? " 

He  silently  kissed  his  wife's  brow. 

"  JSfon,  il  est  impitoyable,"  Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna 
turned  to  her  husband.  "  He  tells  me  to  go  down  to  the 
river  to  wash  the  linen,  and  to  eat  nothing  but  potatoes. 
He  is  a  terrible  fool,  but  still  you  do  for  him  that  for 
which  he  will  ask  you.  He  is  a  terrible  dummy,"  she 
corrected  herself.  "  Have  you  heard,  they  say  Madame 
Kamenski  is  in  such  despair  that  they  are  afraid  for  her 
life,"  she  addressed  her  husband.  "  You  had  better  call 
on  her." 

"  That  is  terrible,"  said  her  husband. 


368  RESURRECTION 

"  You  go  and  talk  with  him,  for  I  must  write  some 
letters." 

Nekhlyiidov  had  just  gone  into  the  room  next  to  the 
drawing-room,  when  she  called  out  to  him : 

"  Shall  I  write  to  Mariette  ? " 

"  If  you  please,  ma  tante" 

"  So  I  shall  leave  en  hlane  what  it  is  you  wish  about 
that  short-haired  one,  and  she  will  tell  her  husband.  And 
he  will  do  it.  Don't  think  tbat  I  am  a  cross  woman. 
They  are  all  very,  very  horrid,  those  prot^g^es  of  yours, 
but  je  ne  leur  veux  ;pas  de  mal.  God  be  with  them. 
Go !  By  all  means  be  at  home  in  the  evening,  and  you 
will  hear  Kiesewetter.  And  we  shall  pray.  If  only  you 
will  not  oppose  yourself  to  it,  ga  vous  /era  heaucoup  de 
Men.  I  know  both  Heiene  and  all  of  you  are  way  behind 
in  this.     So,  au  revoir" 


XV. 

Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  was  an  ex-minister  and  a 
man  of  very  firm  convictions.  The  convictions  of  Count 
Ivan  Mikhaylovich  had  from  his  earliest  youth  consisted 
in  this :  just  as  it  is  proper  for  a  bird  to  feed  on  worms,  to 
be  clad  in  feathers  and  down,  and  to  fly  through  the  air, 
so  it  was  proper  for  him  to  feed  on  costly  dishes,  prepared 
by  expensive  cooks,  to  be  clad  in  the  most  comfortable 
and  expensive  garments,  to  travel  with  the  best  and  the 
fastest  horses,  and  to  expect  everything  to  be  ready  for 
liim.  Besides  this,  Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  considered 
that  the  more  kinds  of  various  amounts  he  received  from 
the  treasury,  and  the  more  decorations,  inclusive  of  all 
kinds  of  diamond  tokens,  he  should  have,  and  the  oftener 
he  met  and  spoke  with  distinguished  personages,  the  better 
for  him.  Everything  else,  in  comparison  with  these  fun- 
damental dogmas,  Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  regarded  as 
uninteresting  and  insignificant.  Everything  else  might  be 
as  it  was,  or  the  reverse,  for  all  he  was  concerned.  In 
conformity  with  this  belief,  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  had  been 
living  and  acting  in  St.  Petersburg  for  forty  years,  until 
at  last  he  reached  the  post  of  minister. 

The  chief  qualities  of  Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich,  by 
means  of  which  he  attained  this  post,  consisted,  in  the 
first  place,  in  his  ability  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of 
documents  and  laws,  and  to  compose  comprehensible,  if 
not  entirely  grammatical  documents,  without  any  ortho- 
graphical mistakes  ;  in  the  second  place,  he  was  very  rep- 
resentative, and,  wherever  it  was  necessary,  he  was  able  to 
give  an   impression  not  only  of  haughtiness,  but  also  of 

369 


370  RESUKRECTION 

inaccessibility  and  majesty,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  where- 
ever  this  was  necessary,  to  be  servile  to  the  point  of  self- 
effacement  and  baseness  ;  in  the  third  place,  he  had  qo 
general  principles  or  rules,  either  of  personal  or  of  state 
morality,  so  that  he  could  agree  with  everybody,  if  this 
was  necessary,  or  equally  well  disagree  with  everybody,  if 
that  served  him.  In  proceeding  in  this  manner,  he  was 
concerned  only  about  preserving  his  tone  and  not  mani- 
festing any  palpable  contradiction  with  himself ;  but  he 
was  quite  indifferent  as  to  whether  his  acts  were  in  them- 
selves moral  or  immoral,  or  whether  any  great  good,  or 
great  evil,  would  accrue  from  them  to  the  Eussian  Empire 
and  to  the  rest  of  Europe. 

When  he  became  minister,  not  only  those  who  depended 
upon  him  (and  there  were  very  many  people  and  close 
friends  who  depended  upon  him),  but  even  all  outsiders, 
and  he  himself,  were  convinced  that  he  was  a  very  wise 
statesman.  But  when  some  time  passed,  and  he  had  done 
nothing,  had  shown  nothing,  and  when,  by  the  law  of  the 
struggle  for  existence,  just  such  men  as  he,  who  had  learned 
how  to  write  and  comprehend  documents,  and  who  were 
representative  and  unprincipled  officials,  had  pushed  him 
out,  and  he  was  compelled  to  ask  for  his  discharge,  it  be- 
came clear  to  everybody  that  he  was,  not  only  not  a  very 
intelligent  man,  but  even  a  man  of  very  hmited  capacities 
and  of  little  culture,  though  a  self-confident  man,  who  in 
his  views  barely  rose  to  the  level  of  the  leading  articles  of 
the  conservative  papers. 

It  turned  out  that  there  was  nothing  in  him  which  dis- 
tinguished him  from  other  little-educated,  self-confident 
officials,  who  had  pushed  him  out,  and  he  himself  came  to 
see  that ;  but  this  did  not  in  the  least  shake  his  convictions 
that  he  must  every  year  receive  a  large  sum  of  Crown 
money  and  new  decorations  for  his  parade  uniform.  This 
conviction  was  so  strong  in  him  that  nobody  dared  to  re- 
fuse them  to  him,  and  each  year  he  received,  partly  in  the 


KESURRECTION  371 

form  of  a  pension,  and  partly  in  the  form  of  remuneration 
for  his  membership  in  a  higher  state  institution,  and  for 
presiding  in  various  commissious  and  committees,  several 
tens  of  thousands  of  roubles,  and,  besides,  each  year  new 
rights  highly  esteemed  by  him,  to  sew  new  galloons  on  his 
shoulders  or  pantaloons,  and  to  attach  new  ribbons  and 
enamelled  stars  to  his  dress  coat.  In  consequence  of  this 
Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  had  great  connections. 

Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  listened  to  Nekhlyiidov  just 
as  he  would  listen  to  the  report  of  his  secretary ;  having 
heard  all  he  had  to  say,  he  told  him  that  he  would  give 
him  two  notes  :  one  to  Senator  Wolf,  in  the  Department 
of  Cassation.  "  They  say  all  kinds  of  things  about  him, 
but  dans  tous  les  cas  ccst  tin  liomvie  tres  coTnimc  il  faut^ho, 
said.  "  He  is  under  obligations  to  me,  and  he  will  do  what 
he  can."  The  other  note  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  gave  him  was 
to  an  influential  person  in  the  Petition  Commission.  The 
case  of  Fedosya  Biryukov,  as  Nekhlyiidov  told  it  to  him, 
interested  him  very  much.  When  Nekhlyiidov  told  him 
that  he  wanted  to  write  a  letter  to  the  empress,  he  said 
that  it  really  was  a  very  pathetic  case,  and  that  he  would 
tell  it  there,  whenever  an  opportunity  should  offer  itself. 
But  he  could  not  promise  to  do  so.  He  had  better  send 
in  the  petition  any  way.  But  if  there  should  be  a  chance, 
he  said,  if  they  should  call  him  to  a  petit  comitS  on  Thurs- 
day, he  would  probably  tell  it. 

Having  received  the  two  notes  from  the  count,  and  the 
note  to  Mariette  from  his  aunt,  Nekhlyiidov  at  once  went 
to  all  those  places. 

First  of  all  he  repaired  to  Mariette.  He  used  to  know 
her  as  a  young  girl ;  he  knew  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  a  poor,  aristocratic  family,  and  that  she  had  married 
a  man  who  had  made  a  career,  and  of  whom  he  had  heard 
some  very  bad  things ;  consequently,  it  was,  as  ever,  pain- 
ful for  Nekhlyiidov  to  make  a  request  of  a  man  whom  he 
did  not  respect.     In  such  cases  he  always  felt  an  internal 


372  RESUKRECTION 

discord,  a  dissatisfaction  with  himself,  and  a  wavering, 
whether  he  should  ask  or  not,  and  he  always  decided  that 
he  should.  Besides  being  conscious  of  the  unnaturalness 
of  his  position  as  a  petitioner  among  people  whom  he  did 
not  regard  as  his  own,  but  who  considered  him  as  theirs, 
he  felt  in  that  society  that  he  was  entering  his  former 
habitual  routine,  and  that  he  involuntarily  succumbed  to 
the  frivolous  and  immoral  tone  which  reigned  in  that 
circle.  He  had  experienced  this  even  at  the  house  of 
his  aunt  Ekaterina  Ivanovna.  He  had  that  very  morning 
fallen  into  a  jocular  tone,  as  he  had  been  talking  to  her. 

St.  Petersburg  in  general,  where  he  had  not  been  for 
a  long  time,  produced  upon  him  its  usual  physically 
bracing  and  morally  dulling  effect. 

Everything  was  so  clean,  so  comfortable,  and  so  well- 
arranged,  but,  above  everything  else,  people  were  morally 
so  httle  exacting,  that  life  seemed  to  be  easy  there. 

A  beautiful,  clean,  polite  cabman  took  him  past  beauti- 
ful, polite,  and  clean  policemen,  over  a  beautiful,  smooth 
pavement,  past  beautiful,  clean  houses,  to  the  one  in 
which  Mariette  lived. 

At  the  entrance  stood  a  span  of  Enghsh  horses  in  a 
fine  harness,  and  an  English-looking  coachman,  with  side- 
whiskers  up  to  the  middle  of  his  cheeks,  and  in  livery, 
sat  on  the  box,  holding  a  whip,  and  looking  proud. 

A  porter  in  an  uncommonly  clean  uniform  opened  the 
door  to  the  vestibule,  where  stood,  in  a  still  more  clean 
livery  with  galloons,  a  carriage  lackey  with  superbly 
combed  side-whiskers,  and  an  orderly  in  a  new,  clean 
uniform. 

"  The  general  does  not  receive.  Nor  does  the  lady. 
They  will  drive  out  in  a  minute." 

Nekhlyiidov  gave  up  the  letter  of  Countess  Ekaterina 
Ivanovna,  and,  taking  out  a  visiting-card,  went  up  to 
a  small  table,  on  which  lay  a  book  for  the  registry 
of  visitors,  and  began  to  write  that  he  was  very  sorry 


KESURRECTION  373 

not  to  find  her  at  home,  when  the  lackey  moved  up  to 
the  staircase,  the  porter  went  out  to  the  entrance,  and  the 
orderly  straightened  himself  up,  with  his  hands  down  his 
legs,  in  a  motionless  attitude,  meeting  and  following  with 
his  eyes  a  small,  lean  lady,  who  was  walking  down  the 
staircase  with  a  rapid  gait,  which  did  not  comport  with 
her  dignity. 

Mariette  wore  a  large  hat  with  a  feather,  a  black  gown, 
a  black  mantle,  and  new,  black  gloves;  her  face  was 
covered  with  a  veil. 

Upon  noticing  ISTekhlyudov,  she  raised  her  veil,  dis- 
played a  very  sweet  face  with  gleaming  eyes,  and  looked 
at  him  interrogatively. 

"  Ah,  Prince  Dmitri  Ivanovich,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
merry,  pleasant  voice.     "  I  should  have  recognized  —  " 

"  What,  you  even  remember  my  name  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Sister  and  I  had  even  been  in  love  with 
you,"  she  said,  in  French.  "  But  how  you  have  changed  ! 
What  a  pity  I  am  driving  out.  However,  let  us  go  back," 
she  said,  stopping  in  indecision. 

She  looked  at  the  clock. 

"  No,  it  is  impossible.  I  must  go  to  the  mass  for  the 
dead  at  Madame  Kamenski's.  She  is  terribly  cast 
down." 

"  Who  is  this  Madame  Kamenski  ? " 

"  Have  you  not  heard  ?  Her  son  was  killed  in  a  duel. 
He  fought  with  Pozen.  An  only  son.  Terrible.  The 
mother  is  so  very  much  cast  down." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard." 

"  No,  I  had  better  go,  and  you  come  to-morrow,  or  this 
evening,"  she  said,  walking  through  the  entrance  door 
with  rapid,  light  steps. 

"  I  cannot  come  this  evening,"  he  answered,  walking 
out  on  the  front  steps  with  her.  "  I  have  some  business 
with  you,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  span  of  bay  horses, 
which  drove  up  to  the  steps. 


374  KESURRECTION 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Here  is  a  note  from  my  aunt  about  it,"  said  Nekh- 
lyudov,  handing  her  a  narrow  envelope  with  a  large 
monogram.     "  You  will  see  from  this  what  it  is." 

"  I  know,  Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna  thinks  that 
I  have  some  influence  on  my  husband  in  business  matters. 
She  is  in  error.  I  cannot  and  will  not  interfere.  But,  of 
course,  for  the  countess  and  for  you  I  shall  depart  from 
my  rules.  What  is  the  business  ? "  she  said,  in  vain  try- 
ing to  find  her  pocket  with  her  small  hand  in  the  black 
glove. 

"  There  is  a  girl  who  is  confined  in  the  fortress ;  she 
is  ill,  and  not  guilty." 

"  What  is  her  name  ? " 

"  Shiistov.  Lidiya  Shiistov.  You  will  find  it  in  the 
note." 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  try  to  do  it,"  she  said,  lightly 
stepping  into  the  softly  cushioned  carriage  which  glis- 
tened in  the  sun  with  the  lacquer  of  its  wings.  She  opened 
her  parasol.  The  lackey  sat  down  on  the  box,  and  gave 
the  coachman  a  sign  to  drive  on.  The  carriage  started, 
but  the  same  minute  she  touched  the  coachman's  back 
with  her  parasol,  and  the  slender-legged,  handsome,  short- 
tailed  mares  stopped,  compressing  their  reined-in  beauti- 
ful heads,  and  stamping  with  their  slender  feet. 

"Do  come,  but,  if  you  please,  disinterestedly,"  she  said, 
smiling  a  smile,  the  power  of  which  she  knew  too  well. 
The  performance,  so  to  say,  being  over,  she  drew  down 
the  curtain,  —  let  down  her  veil.  "  Well,  let  us  start," 
and  she  again  touched  the  coachman  with  the  parasol. 

Nekhlyiidov  raised  his  hat.  The  thoroughbred  bay 
mares,  snorting,  struck  their  hoofs  against  the  pavement, 
and  the  carriage  rolled  off  swiftly,  now  and  then  softly 
leaping  with  its  new  tires  over  the  unevennesses  of  the 
road. 


XVI. 

Eecalling  the  smile  which  he  had  exchanged  with 
Mariette,  Nekhlyudov  shook  his  head  at  himself : 

"  Before  I  shall  have  looked  around,  I  shall  again  be 
drawn  into  that  life,"  he  thought,  experiencing  that 
internal  dissension  and  those  doubts  which  the  necessity 
of  invoking  the  aid  of  people  whom  he  did  not  respect 
awakened  in  him.  He  considered  where  he  should  go 
first,  where  later,  so  as  not  to  recross  his  way,  and  started 
to  go  to  the  Senate.  Upon  arriving  there,  he  was  led 
into  the  chancery,  where,  in  a  magnificent  apartment,  he 
saw  an  immense  number  of  exceedingly  pohte  and  clean 
officials. 

Maslova's  petition  had  been  received  and  submitted  for 
consideration  and  report  to  that  same  Senator  Wolf,  to 
whom  he  had  a  letter  from  his  uncle,  so  the  officials  told 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  There  will  be  a  meeting  of  the  Senate  this  week,  but 
Maslova's  case  will  hardly  come  up  then.  But  if  it 
should  be  requested,  there  is  hope  that  it  might  pass  this 
week,  on  Wednesday,"  said  one. 

In  the  chancery  of  the  Senate,  while  waiting  for  the 
information,  Nekhlyudov  again  heard  a  conversation  about 
the  duel,  and  a  detailed  account  of  how  Kamenski  had 
been  killed.  Here  he  for  the  first  time  heard  all  the 
details  of  the  story  which  interested  all  St.  Petersburg. 
Some  officers  had  been  eating  oysters  in  a  shop,  and,  as 
usual,  drinking  a  great  deal.  Some  one  said  something 
uncomplimentary  about  the  regiment  in  which  Kamenski 
was  serving :    Kamenski  called  him   a  liar.     The  other 

375 


376  RESURRECTION 

struck  Kamenski.  The  following  day  they  fought,  and 
Kamenski  was  hit  by  a  bullet  in  the  abdomen,  and  died 
from  it  in  two  hours.  The  murderer  and  the  seconds 
were  arrested,  but  it  was  said,  although  they  were  now 
confined  in  the  guard-house,  they  would  be  released  in 
two  weeks. 

From  the  chancery  of  the  Senate,  Nekhlyudov  drove  to 
the  Petition  Commission,  to  see  there  an  influential  offi- 
cial. Baron  Vorob^v,  who  occupied  superb  quarters  in  a 
Crown  house.  The  porter  and  the  lackey  sternly  in- 
formed Nekhlyudov  that  the  baron  could  not  be  seen 
on  any  but  reception-days,  that  he  now  was  at  the 
emperor's  palace,  and  that  on  the  next  day  he  would 
have  to  report  there  again.  Nekhlyudov  left  his  letter, 
and  went  to  Senator  Wolf. 

Wolf  had  just  breakfasted,  and,  as  usual,  was  encour- 
aging his  digestion  by  smoking  a  cigar  and  walking  up 
and  down  in  his  room,  when  he  received  Nekhlyudov. 
Vladimir  Vasilevich  Wolf  was,  indeed,  un  homme  tres 
eomme  il  faut,  and  this  quality  he  placed  higher  than 
anything  else.  From  this  height  he  looked  at  all  other 
people,  nor  could  he  help  highly  valuing  this  quality, 
since,  thanks  only  to  this,  he  had  made  a  brilliant  career, 
such  as  he  had  wished  to  make :  that  is,  by  his  marriage 
he  had  acquired  property  giving  him  an  income  of  eight- 
een thousand  roubles,  and  by  his  own  labours  he  had 
risen  to  the  rank  of  a  Senator.  He  not  only  regarded 
himself  as  un  homme  tres  comme  il  faut,  but  also  as  a  man 
of  chivalrous  honesty.  By  honesty  he  understood  his  rule 
not  to  take  secret  bribes  from  private  individuals.  But 
he  did  not  consider  it  dishonest  to  extort  from  the  Crown 
all  kinds  of  travelling  expenses,  post  moneys,  and  rentals, 
in  return  for  which  he  servilely  executed  that  which  even 
the  Government  did  not  demand  of  him.  To  ruin  and 
destroy,  to  be  the  cause  of  the  deportation  and  incar- 
ceration of  hundreds  of  innocent  people,  for  their  attach- 


KESUliKECTION  377 

ment  to  their  people  and  to  the  religion  of  their  fathers, 
as  he  had  done  while  being  a  governor  of  one  of  the 
Governments  of  the  Kingdom  of  Poland,  he  not  only  did 
not  consider  dishonest,  but  even  an  act  of  noble-minded- 
ness, courage,  and  patriotism.  Nor  did  he  regard  it  as 
dishonest  to  fleece  his  wife,  who  was  enamoured  of  him, 
and  his  sister-in-law. 

On  the  contrary,  he  looked  upon  this  as  a  wise  arrange- 
ment of  his  domestic  life.  His  family  consisted  of  his 
impersonal  wife,  her  sister,  whose  property  he  had  also 
taken  into  his  hands,  and  whose  estate  he  had  sold, 
depositing  the  money  in  his  own  name,  and  a  meek, 
timid,  homely  daughter,  who  was  leading  a  hard,  isolated 
life,  from  which  she  of  late  found  distraction  in  evangel- 
ism, in  the  meetings  at  Aline's  and  at  Countess  Ekaterina 
Ivanovna's.  Vladimir  Vasilevich's  son,  a  good-hearted  fel- 
low, who  had  been  bearded  at  fifteen  years  of  age,  and 
had  been  drinking  and  leading  a  dissolute  life  since  then, 
continuing  to  live  thus  to  his  twentieth  year,  had  been 
driven  out  of  the  house  for  not  having  graduated  from 
anywhere,  and  for  compromising  his  father  by  moving  in 
bad  society  and  making  debts.  His  father  had  once  paid 
230  roubles  for  him,  and  anotlier  time  six  hundred 
roubles,  when  he  informed  him  that  this  was  the  last 
time,  that  if  he  did  not  improve  he  would  drive  him  out 
of  the  house,  and  would  break  off  all  connections  with 
him.  His  son  not  only  did  not  improve,  but  even  made 
another  debt  of  one  thousand  roubles,  and,  besides,  allowed 
himself  to  tell  his  father  that  it  was  a  torment  for  him  to 
live  in  his  house.  Then  Vladimir  Vasilevich  informed 
his  son  that  he  could  go  whither  he  pleased,  that  he  was 
not  a  son  to  him.  Since  then  Vladimir  Vasilevich  pre- 
tended that  he  had  no  son,  and  his  home  people  never 
dared  to  talk  to  him  about  his  son,  and  Vladimir  Vasile- 
vich was  absolutely  convinced  that  his  family  life  was 
circumstanced  in  the  best  manner  possible. 


378  KESUKRECTION 

Wolf  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his  promenade  in  the 
room,  with  a  gracious  and  somewhat  ironical  smile  (that 
was  his  mannerism,  the  involuntary  expression  of  his 
consciousness  of  his  comme  il  faut  superiority  above  the 
majority  of  men),  greeted  Nekhlyiidov,  and  read  the  note. 

"  Please  be  seated,  and  pardon  me.  I  shall  continue  to 
walk,  if  you  will  permit  it,"  he  said,  placing  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  jacket,  and  treading  with  soft,  light 
steps  along  the  diagonal  of  the  cabinet,  which  was  ap- 
pointed in  severe  style.  "  I  am  very  happy  to  make  your 
acquaintance  and,  of  course,  to  be  able  to  do  Count  Ivan 
Mikhaylovich  a  favour,"  he  said,  emitting  a  fragrant  bluish 
puff  of  smoke,  and  cautiously  removing  the  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  in  order  not  to  drop  the  ashes. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  to  consider  the  case  as  early 
as  possible,  so  that  the  prisoner  may  go  to  Siberia  as 
soon  as  possible,  if  she  has  to  go  at  all,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Yes,  yes,  with  the  first  steamers  from  Nizhni-Nov- 
gorod, —  I  know,"  said  Wolf,  with  his  condescending 
smile,  knowing  always  in  advance  what  people  were 
going  to  tell  him.     "  What  is  the  prisoner's  name  ? " 

"  Maslova  —  " 

Wolf  went  up  to  the  table  and  looked  at  a  paper  which 
was  lying  on  a  box  with  documents. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Maslova.  Very  well.  I  shall  ask  my  asso- 
ciates about  it.  We  shall  take  the  case  under  advisement 
on  Wednesday." 

"  May  I  wire  the  lawyer  about  it  ? " 

"  You  have  a  lawyer  ?  What  is  that  for  ?  If  you 
wish,  you  may." 

"  The  causes  for  appeal  may  be  insufficient,"  said  Nekh- 
lyiidov,  "  but  it  may  be  seen  from  the  case  that  the  verdict 
was  due  to  a  misunderstanding." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  may  be  so,  but  the  Senate  does  not 
consider  the  case  on  its  essential  merit,"  sternly  said 
Vladimir  Vasilevich,  looking  at  the  ashes.     "  The  Senate 


RESURRECTION  379 

is  concerned  only  about  the  correct  application  and  ex- 
position of  the  laws." 

"  This  seems  to  me  to  be  an  exceptional  case." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  All  cases  are  exceptional.  We 
shall  do  all  we  can.  That  is  all."  The  ashes  still  held 
on^  but  had  a  crack,  and  were  in  imminent  peril.  "  Do 
you  come  often  to  St.  Petersburg  ? "  said  Wolf,  holding 
his  cigar  in  such  a  way  that  the  ashes  could  not  fail 
down.  But  the  ashes  trembled,  and  Wolf  cautiously 
carried  his  cigar  to  the  ash-tray,  into  which  they  dropped. 

"  What  a  terrible  incident  that  was  with  Kamenski," 
he  said.  "  A  fine  young  man.  An  only  son.  Especially 
his  mother's  condition,"  he  said,  repeating  almost  the 
identical  words  that  all  St.  Petersburg  was  at  that  time 
saying  about  Kamenski.  Having  said  something  about 
Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna  and  her  infatuation  for  the 
new  religious  movement,  which  Vladimir  Vasilevich 
neither  condemned  nor  approved  of,  and  which  was 
manifestly  superfluous  to  him  in  his  comme  il  faut  state, 
he  rang  a  bell. 

Nekhlyiidov  bowed  himself  out. 

"  If  it  is  convenient  to  you,  come  to  dinner,"  WoK  said, 
giving  him  his  hand,  "  say,  on  Wednesday.  I  shall  then 
give  you  a  decisive  answer." 

It  w^as  late,  and  Nekhlyiidov  drove  home,  that  is,  to 
his  aunt's. 


XVII. 

Dinner  was  served  at  the  house  of  Ekaterina  Ivanovna 
at  half-past  seven  in  a  new  fashion,  which  Nekhlyudov 
had  not  seen  before.  The  dishes  were  placed  on  the  table, 
and  the  lackeys  went  out  at  once,  so  that  the  diners 
helped  themselves  to  the  food.  The  gentlemen  did  not 
permit  the  ladies  to  exert  themselves  by  superfluous  move- 
ments, and,  being  the  strong  sex,  bravely  attended  to  the 
labour  of  filling  the  ladies'  and  their  own  plates  with  food, 
and  filling  their  glasses  with  drinks.  When  one  course  was 
consumed,  the  countess  pressed  the  button  of  an  electric 
bell  on  the  table,  and  the  lackeys  entered  noiselessly, 
rapidly,  cleaned  off  the  table,  changed  the  dishes,  and 
brought  the  next  course.  The  dinner  was  excellent,  and 
so  were  the  wines.  In  the  large,  well-lighted  kitchen 
a  French  chef  was  busy  with  two  assistants  in  white. 
There  were  six  persons  at  the  table :  the  count  and  the 
countess,  their  son,  a  gloomy  officer  of  the  Guards,  who 
put  his  elbows  on  the  table,  Nekhlyudov,  a  French  lady- 
reader,  and  the  count's  manager,  who  had  come  up  from 
the  country. 

The  conversation  here,  too,  turned  upon  the  duel.  The 
emperor's  view  of  the  affair  was  under  consideration.  It 
was  known  that  the  emperor  was  very  much  grie->.'ed  for 
the  mother,  and  all  were  grieved  for  the  mother.  But, 
as  it  was  also  known  that,  although  the  emperor  sympa- 
thized with  her,  he  did  not  wish  to  be  severe  on  the 
murderer,  who  had  defended  the  honour  of  his  uniform, 
all  were  condescending  to  the  murderer,  who  had  defended 


RESURRECTION  381 

the  honour  of  his  uniform.     Countess  Ekaterina  Ivauovna 
alone,  with  her  frivolous  free  ideas,  condemned  him. 

"  I  should  not  forgive  them  for  anything  in  the  world 
for  carousing  and  for  killing  innocent  young  men,"  she  said. 

"  I  cannot  understand  that,"  said  the  count. 

"  I  know  that  you  never  understand  what  I  say,"  said 
the  countess,  turning  to  Nekhlyiidov.  "  Everybody  under- 
stands except  my  husband.  I  say  that  I  am  sorry  for 
the  mother,  and  that  I  do  not  want  them  to  kill  and  to 
be  content." 

Then  the  son,  who  had  been  silent  until  now,  defended 
the  murderer  and  attacked  his  mother,  proving  to  her  in 
a  sufficiently  coarse  manner  that  the  ofl&cer  could  not 
have  acted  differently,  that  if  he  had  he  would  have  been 
expelled  from  the  army  by  a  court  of  officers.  Nekh- 
lyiidov  listened,  without  taking  part  in  the  conversation  ; 
having  been  an  officer,  he  understood,  though  he  did  not 
approve,  the  proofs  which  young  Charski  adduced ;  at  the 
same  time  he  involuntarily  compared  the  officer  who  had 
killed  another  with  the  prisoner,  the  fine-looking  young 
fellow,  whom  he  had  seen  in  prison,  and  who  had  been 
sentenced  to  hard  labour  for  killing  a  man  in  a  brawl. 
Both  became  murderers  through  drinking.  The  peasant 
had  killed  in  a  moment  of  excitement,  and  he  was  sepa- 
rated from  his  wife,  his  family,  his  relatives,  was  chained 
in  fetters,  and  with  a  shaven  head  was  on  his  way  to 
hard  labour,  while  the  officer  was  located  in  a  beauti- 
ful room  at  the  guard-house,  eating  good  dinners,  drinking  ^ 
good  wine,  and  reading  books,  and  in  a  few  days  he  would 
be  let  out,  continuing  his  previous  life,  and  being  only  a 
more  interesting  person  for  his  deed. 

He  ^aid  what  he  thought  about  the  matter.  At  first 
Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna  agreed  vdth  her  nephew, 
but  later  she  was  silent. 

Nekhlyiidov  felt,  like  the  rest,  that  with  his  story  he 
had,  as  it  were,  committed  an  indecency. 


382  RESURRECTION 

In  the  evening,  after  dinner,  chairs  with  high  carved 
backs  were  placed  in  the  parlour,  as  though  for  a  lecture, 
in  rows,  and  in  front  of  the  table  was  put  a  chair  with  a 
small  table,  with  a  decanter  of  water  for  the  preacher,  and 
people  began  to  congregate,  to  hsten  to  the  sermon  of 
the  newly  arrived  Kiesewetter. 

Near  the  entrance  stood  expensive  carriages.  In  the 
luxuriously  furnished  parlour  sat  ladies  in  silk,  velvet, 
and  laces,  with  false  hair  and  tightly  laced  waists  and 
false  bosoms.  Between  the  women  sat  gentlemen,  soldiers 
and  private  citizens,  and  five  men  from  the  lower  classes : 
two  janitors,  a  shopkeeper,  a  lackey,  and  a  coachman. 

Kiesewetter,  a  strongly  built,  gray-haired  gentleman, 
spoke  in  English,  and  a  lean  young  lady,  with  eye-glasses, 
translated  rapidly  and  well. 

He  said  that  our  sins  were  so  great,  and  the  punishment 
for  these  was  so  great  and  unavoidable,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  live  in  expectation  of  this  punishment. 

"  Let  us  only  think,  dear  sisters  and  brethren,  of  our- 
selves, of  our  lives,  of  what  we  are  doing,  how  we  are 
living,  how  we  anger  long-sufiering  God,  how  we  cause 
Christ  to  suffer,  and  we  shall  see  that  there  is  no  forgive- 
ness for  us,  no  issue,  no  salvation,  —  that  we  are  all 
doomed  to  perdition.  A  terrible  doom,  eternal  torments 
await  us,"  he  said,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  How  are  we 
to  be  saved,  brethen,  how  are  we  to  be  saved  from  this 
terrible  conflagration  ?  It  has  already  seized  upon  the 
house,  and  there  is  no  issue  from  it ! " 

He  grew  silent,  and  real  tears  flowed  down  his  cheeks. 
He  had  been  delivering  this  speech  for  eight  years,  with- 
out any  errors,  and  whenever  he  reached  that  passage  of 
his  very  popular  sermon  he  was  seized  by  convulsions 
in  his  throat,  and  tickling  in  his  nose,  and  tears  began  to 
flow  from  his  eyes. 

And  these  tears  touched  him  still  more.  Sobs  were 
heard  in  the  room.     Countess   Ekaterina   Ivanovna  sat 


KESURRECTION  383 

near  a  mosaic  table,  leaning  her  head  on  both  her  arms, 
and  her  fat  shoulders  shrugged  convulsively.  The  coach- 
man looked  in  surprise  and  fear  at  the  foreigner,  as 
though  he  had.  driven  right  into  him  with  the  shaft,  aud 
he  did  not  budge.  The  majority  sat  in  poses  similar  to 
that  of  Countess  Ekaterma  Ivanovna.  Wolf's  daughter, 
who  resembled  him,  in  a  fashionable  garment,  was  on  her 
knees,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

The  orator  suddenly  revealed  his  face  and  called  forth 
upon  it  that  which  strikingly  resembled  a  real  smile,  such 
as  actors  use  to  express  joy  with,  and  began  to  speak  in  a 
sweet  and  tender  voice : 

"  There  is  a  salvation.  Here  it  is :  it  is*  easy  and  bliss- 
ful. This  salvation  is  the  blood  of  the  only  begotten  Son 
of  God,  who  has  allowed  Himself  to  be  tormented  for  our 
sakes.  His  suffering.  His  blood  saves  us.  Sisters  and 
brethren,"  he  again  said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  let  us 
praise  the  Lord  who  has  given  His  only  begotten  Son  for 
the  redemption  of  the  human  race.     His  holy  blood  —  " 

Nekhlyudov  was  overcome  by  such  a  painful  feeling  of 
nausea  that  he  softly  rose  and,  frowning  and  repressmg  a 
groan  of  shame,  walked  out  on  tiptoe  and  went  to  his 
room. 


XVIII. 

On  the  following  day,  just  as  Nekhlyiidov  had  dressed 
himself  and  was  on  the  point  of  going  down-stairs,  a 
lackey  brought  him  the  visiting-card  of  the  Moscow 
lawyer.  The  lawyer  had  arrived  to  look  after  his  affairs 
and,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  present  at  the  discussion  of 
Maslova's  case  in  the  Senate,  if  it  was  to  be  heard  soon. 
The  despatch  which  Nekhlyiidov  had  sent  him  had  missed 
him.  Upon  hearing  when  Maslova's  case  was  to  come  up 
and  who  the  Senators  were,  he  smiled. 

"  There  you  have  all  three  types  of  Senators,"  he  said : 
"  Wolf  is  a  Petersburgian  official ;  Skovorodnikov  is  a 
learned  jurist ;  and  Be  is  a  practical  jurist,  consequently 
the  liveliest  of  them  all,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  There  is 
most  hope  in  him.  And  how  is  it  about  the  Petition 
Commission  ? " 

"  I  am  going  down  to-day  to  Baron  Vorobev.  I  could 
not  get  any  interview  yesterday." 

"  Do  you  know  how  Vorobev  comes  to  be  a  baron  ? " 
said  the  lawyer,  replying  to  the  somewhat  comical  intona- 
tion, with  which  Nekhlyiidov  had  pronounced  this  foreign 
title  in  connection  with  such  a  Eussian  name.  "  Paul  had 
rewarded  his  grandfather,  a  lackey  of  the  chamber,  I  think, 
for  some  great  favour  of  his,  as  much  as  to  say :  '  Have  a 
baronetcy,  and  don't  interfere  with  my  pleasure  ! '  Since 
then  goes  the  race  of  the  Barons  of  Vorobev.  He  is  very 
proud  of  it.     And  he  is  a  shrewd  one." 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  him,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Very  well,  let  us  go  together.  I  shall  take  you  down 
to  his  house." 

884 


RESURRECTION  385 

Nekhlyudov  was  already  in  the  antechamber,  being  on 
the  point  of  leaving,  when  he  was  met  by  a  lackey  with  a 
note  from  Mariette : 

"  Pour  vous  /aire  plaisir,  fai  agi  tout  h  fait  contre  mes 

principes,  et  fai  intercede  aupres  de  mon  mari  pour  votre 

protegee.     II  se  trouve  que  cette  per  Sonne  peut  etre  ralCichee 

innnediatement.      Mon    mari    a    ecrit    au   commandant. 

Venez  done  disinterestedly.     Je  vous  attends.  M." 

"  How  is  this  ? "  Nekhlyudov  said  to  the  lawyer.  "  This 
is  simply  terrible.  The  woman  whom  he  has  been  keep- 
ing for  seven  months  in  soUtary  confinement  proves  to  be 
innocent,  and,  in  order  to  release  her,  it  was  only  necessary 
to  sav  the  word." 

"  It  is  always  that  way.  At  least,  you  have  got  what 
you  wanted." 

"Yes,  but  this  success  grieves  me.  Just  think  what 
must  be  going  on  there  ?  What  were  they  keeping  her 
for  ? " 

"  Well,  it  would  be  better  not  to  try  to  get  to  the  bot- 
tom of  that.  So  let  me  take  you  down,"  said  the 
lawyer,  as  they  came  out  to  the  front  steps,  and  a  fine 
carriage,  which  the  lawyer  had  hired,  drove  up  to  the 
entrance. 

"  You  want  to  go  to  Baron  Vorob^v  ? " 

The  lawyer  told  the  coachman  where  to  drive,  and  the 
good  horses  soon  brought  Nekhlyudov  to  the  house  which 
the  baron  occupied.  The  baron  was  at  home.  In  the  first 
room  were  two  young  ladies  and  a  young  official  in  his 
vice-uniform,  with  an  exceedingly  long  neck  and  a  bulg- 
ing Adam's  apple,  and  an  extremely  light  gait. 

"  Your  name  ? "  the  young  official  with  the  bulging 
Adam's  apple  asked,  passing  with  an  extremely  light  and 
graceful  gait  from  the  ladies  to  Nekhlyudov. 

Nekhlyudov  told  him  his  name. 


386  RESURRECTION 

"  The  baron  has  mentioned  you.     Directly .' " 

The  adjutant  went  through  the  closed  door,  and  brought 
out  from  the  room  a  lady  in  mourning,  who  was  in  tears. 
The  lady  with  her  bony  fingers  adjusted  the  tangled  veil, 
in  order  to  conceal  her  tears. 

"Please,"  the  young  official  turned  to  Nekhlyudov, 
walking  with  a  light  step  over  to  the  door,  opening  it, 
and  stopping. 

Upon  entering  the  cabinet,  Nekhlyudov  found  himself 
in  front  of  a  middle-sized,  stocky,  short-haired  man  in 
half-uniform,  who  was  sitting  in  an  armchair  at  a  large 
writing-desk,  and  cheerfully  looking  in  front  of  him. 
His  good-natured  face,  which  stood  out  quite  prominently 
with  its  ruddy  blush  from  the  white  moustache  and 
beard,  formed  itself  into  a  gracious  smile  at  the  sight  of 
Nekhlyildov. 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you.  Your  mother  and  I  were  old 
friends.  I  used  to  see  you  when  you  were  a  boy,  and 
later  as  an  officer.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do 
for  you.  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  shaking  his  close-cropped 
gray  head  as  Nekhlyudov  was  telling  him  Fedosya's 
history.  "  Go  on,  go  on,  I  have  understood  it  all.  Yes, 
yes,  this  is  touching  indeed.  Well,  have  you  entered  a 
petition  ? " 

"  I  have  prepared  a  petition,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  taking 
it  out  of  his  pocket.  "  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  give  it 
your  especial  attention,  and  I  hope  you  may." 

"  You  have  done  well.  I  shall  by  all  means  make  the 
report  myself,"  said  the  baron,  awkwardly  expressing 
compassion  in  his  merry  face.  "  It  is  very  touching. 
She  was  apparently  a  child,  and  the  husband  treated  her 
rudely ;  this  made  him  repulsive  to  her,  and  later  came  a 
time  when  they  began  to  love  each  other  —  Yes,  I  shall 
report  it." 

"  Count  Ivan  Mikhaylovich  said  that  he  wanted  to 
ask  —  " 


RESURRECTION  387 

Nekhlyudov  did  not  finish  his  phrase,  when  the  baron's 
face  was  suddenly  changed. 

"  You  had  better  hand  in  the  petition  at  the  chancery, 
and  I  shall  do  what  I  can,"  he  said  to  Nekhlyudov. 

Just  then  the  young  official,  apparently  proud  of  his 
gait,  entered  the  room. 

"  The  lady  asks  to  be  permitted  to  say  two  words 
more." 

"  Well,  call  her  in.  Ah,  mon  chcr,  what  a  lot  of  tears 
one  sees  here ;  if  one  only  could  dry  them  all!  I  do  what 
I  can." 

The  lady  entered. 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  you  not  to  let  him  give  up  the 
daughter,  or  else  —  " 

"  I  told  you  I  should  do  it." 

"  Baron,  for  God's  sake !     You  will  save  a  mother." 

She  seized  his  hand  and  began  to  kiss  it. 

"  Everything  will  be  done." 

When  the  lady  left,  Nekhlyudov,  too,  rose  to  say  good- 
bve. 

"  We  shall  do  what  we  can.  We  shall  consult  the 
minister  of  justice.  He  will  give  us  his  view,  and  then 
we  shall  do  what  we  can." 

Nekhlyudov  went  out  and  walked  into  the  chancery. 
Again,  as  in  the  Senate,  he  found  in  a  superb  apartment 
superb  officials,  who  were  clean,  poUte,  correct  in  their 
dress  and  speech,  precise,  and  severe. 

"  How  many  there  are  of  them,  how  very  many,  and 
how  well  fed  they  are !  What  clean  shirts  and  hands 
they  have  !  How  well  their  shoes  are  blackened  !  And 
who  does  it  all?  And  how  well  they  are  off  in  com- 
parison not  only  with  the  prisoners,  but  even  with  the 
peasants,"  Nekhlyudov  again  involuntarily  thought. 


XIX. 

The  man  on  whom  depended  .the  alleviation  of  the  lot 
of  those  who  were  confined  in  St.  Petersburg  had  decora- 
tions enough  to  cover  him,  but,  with  the  exception  of  a 
white  cross  in  the  buttonhole,  he  did  not  wear  them ;  he 
was  a  superannuated  old  general,  in  his  dotage,  as  they 
said,  and  was  of  German  baronial  origin.  He  had  served 
in  the  Caucasus,  where  he  had  received  this  extremely 
flattering  cross  because  under  his  command  Russian  peas- 
ants, with  their  hair  cropped  and  clad  in  uniforms  and 
armed  with  guns  and  bayonets,  had  killed  more  than  a 
thousand  people  who  were  defending  their  hberty,  their 
homes,  and  their  families.  Then  he  had  served  in  Poland, 
where  he  again  compelled  Eussian  peasants  to  commit  all 
kinds  of  crimes,  for  which  he  received  new  decorations 
and  embellishments  on  his  uniform.  Then  he  had  served 
somewhere  else,  and  now,  being  an  enfeebled  old  man,  he 
obtained  the  place,  which  he  now  was  occupying,  and 
which  supplied  him  with  good  apartments  and  support, 
and  gave  him  honours.  He  executed  severely  all  orders 
from  above,  and  was  exceedingly  proud  of  this  execution ; 
to  these  orders  from  above  he  ascribed  a  special  mean- 
ing, and  thought  that  everything  in  the  world  might  be 
changed,  except  these  orders  from  above.  His  duty  con- 
sisted in  keeping  political  prisoners  in  barracks,  in  soli- 
tary confinement,  and  he  kept  them  there  in  such  a  way 
that  half  of  them  perished  in  the  course  of  ten  years, 
partly  becoming  insane,  partly  dying  from  consumption, 
and  partly  committing  suicide :  some  by  starving  them- 

888 


RESURRECTION  389 

selves,  others  by  cutting  their  veins  open  with  pieces  of 
glass,  or  by  hanging,  or  by  burning  themselves  to  death. 

The  old  general  knew  all  this ;  all  this  took  place 
under  his  eyes,  but  all  these  cases  did  not  touch  his  con- 
science any  more  than  his  conscience  was  touched  by 
accidents  arising  from  storms,  inundations,  and  so  on. 

These  accidents  happened  on  account  of  his  executing 
orders  from  above,  in  the  name  of  the  emperor.  These 
orders  had  to  be  carried  out  without  questioning,  and 
therefore  it  was  quite  useless  to  think  of  the  consequences 
resulting  from  these  orders. 

The  old  general  did  not  permit  himself  even  to  think 
of  such  affairs,  considering  it  his  patriotic  duty  as  a 
soldier  not  to  think,  in  order  not  to  weaken  in  the  exe- 
cution of  these,  as  he  thought,  extremely  important 
duties  of  his.  Once  a  week  the  old  general  regarded  it 
as  his  duty  to  visit  all  the  barracks  and  to  ask  the  pris- 
oners whether  they  had  any  requests  to  make.  The 
prisoners  generally  had  requests  to  make  of  him.  He 
listened  to  them  calmly  and  in  impenetrable  silence,  and 
never  granted  them  because  they  were  all  contrary  to  the 
regulations  of  the  law. 

As  Nekhlyudov  was  approaching  the  residence  of  the 
old  general,  the  soft  chimes  of  the  tower  played  "  Praise 
ye  the  Lord,"  and  the  clock  struck  two.  Listening  to 
the  chimes,  Nekhlyudov  involuntarily  recalled  having 
read  in  the  memoirs  of  the  Decembrists  what  an  effect 
this  sweet  music,  repeated  every  hour,  had  on  the  souls 
of  those  who  were  confined  for  life. 

As  Nekhlyudov  drove  up  to  the  entrance  of  his  lodg- 
ings, the  general  was  sitting  in  a  dark  drawing-room  at 
an  inlaid  table  and,  together  with  a  young  man,  an  artist, 
a  brother  of  one  of  his  subordinates,  was  twirling  a  small 
dish  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  The  thin,  moist,  feeble  fingers  of 
the  artist  were  linked  with  the  rough,  wrinkled  lingers 
of  the  general,  which  were  stiff  in  their  joints,  and  these 


390  RESURRECTION" 

linked  hands  were  jerking  about,  together  with  the  in- 
verted saucer,  over  the  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  were 
written  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  The  saucer  was 
answering  the  question  put  by  the  general  as  to  how  the 
spirits  would  recognize  each  other  after  death. 

Just  as  one  of  the  orderlies,  who  was  acting  as  valet, 
entered  with  Nekhlyudov's  card,  Joan  of  Arc's  spirit  was 
communicating  with  them  by  means  of  the  saucer.  Joan 
of  Arc's  spirit  had  already  spelled  out,  "  They  will  recog- 
nize each  other  after  their,"  and  this  had  been  noted 
down.  Just  as  the  orderly  had  entered,  the  saucer, 
which  had  first  stopped  at  "  1,"  was  jerking  about  in 
all  directions  just  after  it  had  reached  the  letter  "  i." 
It  was  wavering  because  the  next  letter,  according  to  the 
general's  opinion,  was  to  have  been  "  b,"  that  is,  Joan  of 
Arc,  in  his  opinion,  was  to  have  said  that  the  spirits 
would  recognize  each  other  after  their  liberation  from  all 
earthly  dross,  or  something  to  that  effect,  and  the  next 
letter,  therefore,  had  to  be  "  b  " ;  but  the  artist  thought 
that  the  next  letter  would  be  "  g,"  that  the  spirit  was 
going  to  say  that  the  souls  would  recognize  each  other 
after  their  lights,  which  would  emanate  from  their  ethe- 
real bodies.  The  general,  gloomily  arching  his  thick  gray 
eyebrows,  was  looking  fixedly  at  the  hands,  and,  imagin- 
ing that  the  saucer  was  moving  of  its  own  accord,  was 
pulling  it  in  the  direction  of  letter  "  b."  But  the  young, 
anoemic  artist,  with  his  scant  hair  combed  behind  his 
ears,  was  looking  with  his  lifeless  blue  eyes  into  the  dark 
corner  of  the  drawing-room,  and,  nervously  twitching  his 
lips,  was  pulling  the  saucer  in  the  direction  of  "  g."  The 
general  scowled  at  the  interruption  of  his  occupation,  and, 
after  a  moment's  silence,  took  the  card,  put  on  his  eye- 
glasses, and,  groaning  from  a  pain  in  the  small  of  his 
back,  arose  to  his  full  tall  stature,  rubbing  his  stiffened 
joints. 

"  Take  him  to  the  cabinet." 


EESURRECTION  391 

"  Permit  me,  your  Excellency,  I  shall  finish  it  myself," 
said  the  artist,  getting  up.     "  I  feel  the  presence." 

"  Very  well,  finish  it,"  the  general  said,  in  a  resolute 
and  severe  voice,  while  with  a  resolute  and  even  gait  he 
directed  the  long  steps  of  his  parallel  feet  to  the  cabinet. 

"  Glad  to  see  you."  The  general  said  ^hese  gracious 
words  to  Nekhlyiidov  in  a  coarse  voice,  pointing  to  a 
chair  at  the  writing-desk.  "Have  you  been  long  in  St. 
Petersburg  ? " 

Nekhlyiidov  told  him  that  he  had  arrived  but  lately. 

"  Is  the  princess,  your  mother,  well." 

"  Mother  is  dead." 

*'  Pardon  me,  I  am  very  sorry.  My  son  told  me  that 
he  had  met  you." 

The  general's  son  was  making  the  same  career  as  his 
father.  After  leaving  the  military  academy,  he  served  in 
the  detective  bureau,  and  was  very  proud  of  the  business 
which  there  was  entrusted  to  him.  His  occupation  con- 
sisted in  supervising  the  spies. 

"  Yes,  I  have  served  with  your  father.  We  were  friends 
and  comrades.     Well,  are  you  serving  ?  " 

"  No." 

The  general  shook  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you,  general,"  said  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

"  Oh,  oh,  I  am  very  glad.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

"  If  my  request  is  improper,  you  will  forgive  me,  I 
hope.     But  I  must  communicate  it  to  you." 

«  What  is  it  ? " 

"  There  is  a  certain  Gur^vich  confined  in  the  fortress. 
His  mother  wishes  to  have  an  interview  with  him,  or,  at 
least,  to  let  him  have  certain  books." 

The  general  expressed  neither  joy  nor  displeasure  at 
Nekhlyudov's  question ;  he  bent  his  head  sidewise  and 
closed  his  eyes,  as  though  lost  in  thought.  He  really 
was  not  thinking  of  anything  and  was  not  even  inter- 


392  RESUKKECTION 

ested  in  Nekhlyudov's  question,  knowing  very  well  that 
he  would  answer  him  in  accordance  with  the  laws.  He 
was  simply  taking  a  mental  rest,  thinking  of  nothing. 

"  This,  you  see,  does  not  depend  on  me,"  he  said,  after 
a  moment's  rest.  "  In  regard  to  interviews  there  is  a 
regulation  confirmed  by  his  Majesty,  and  whatever  is 
decreed  there  is  carried  out.  As  to  the  books,  we  have 
a  hbrary,  and  they  get  such  books  as  are  permitted  to 
them." 

"  But  he  needs  scientific  books.     He  wants  to  work." 

"  Don't  believe  that."  The  general  was  silent  for  a 
while.     "  That  is  not  for  work.     Nothing  but  unrest." 

"  But  they  have  to  do  something  to  occupy  their  time 
in  their  heavy  situation,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  They  always  complain,"  said  the  general.  "  We 
know  them." 

He  spoke  of  them  in  general  as  of  some  especially  bad 
tribe  of  men. 

"  They  are  furnished  such  comforts  here  as  one 
will  rarely  find  in  places  of  confinement,"  continued  the 
general. 

And,  as  though  to  justify  himself,  he  began  to  tell  in 
detail  of  all  the  comforts  which  the  prisoners  had,  as 
though  the  chief  aim  of  this  institution  consisted  in  pro- 
viding pleasant  quarters  for  its  inmates. 

"  Formerly,  it  is  true,  it  was  very  hard,  but  now  they 
are  kept  nicely.  They  eat  three  courses,  and  one  of  these 
is  meat,  either  forcemeat  or  cutlets.  On  Sundays  they 
get  a  fourth  course  of  sweetmeats.  May  God  only  grant 
that  every  Russian  have  such  meals ! " 

The  general  like  all  old  people,  having  once  come  to  a 
subject  which  he  knew  by  rote,  kept  saying  that  which 
he  had  repeated  so  often  in  order  to  prove  their  exactions 
and  ingratitude. 

"  They  get  books,  both  of  a  rehgious  character,  and  old 
periodicals.     We  have  a  hbrary.     But  they  do  not  like 


RESURRECTION  393 

to  read.  At  first  they  seem  to  be  interested,  and  after- 
ward the  new  books  remain  half  uncut,  while  the  pages 
of  the  old  ones  are  not  turned  over.  We  have  tried 
them,"  said  the  baron,  with  a  distant  resemblance  to  a 
smile,  "  by  putting  pieces  of  paper  in.  The  papers  remain 
untouched.  Nor  are  they  kept  from  writing,"  continued 
the  general.  "  They  get  slates  and  pencils,  so  that  they 
may  write  for  their  amusement.  They  may  rub  ofi'  what 
they  have  written,  and  write  over  again.  But  they  don't 
write.  No,  they  very  soon  become  very  quiet.  Only  in 
the  beginning  they  are  restless ;  and  later  they  grow  fat, 
and  become  very  quiet,"  said  the  general,  without  suspect- 
ing what  terrible  meaning  his  words  had. 

Nekhlyudov  listened  to  his  hoarse  old  voice  ;  he  looked 
at  his  stiffened  joints ;  at  his  dimmed  eyes  beneath  his  gray 
brows ;  at  his  shaven,  overhanging,  old  cheeks,  supported 
by  a  military  collar ;  at  the  white  cross,  which  this  man 
prided  himself  on,  especially  since  he  had  received  it  for 
an  extraordinarily  cruel  and  wholesale  murder,  —  and  he 
understood  that  it  was  useless  for  him  to  explain  to  him 
the  meaning  of  his  words.  But  he,  nevertheless,  made 
an  effort  over  himself  and  asked  about  another  affair, 
about  prisoner  Shiistov,  about  whom  he  had  received  that 
day  the  information  that  she  would  be  released. 

"  Shustov  ?  Shiistov  —  I  do  not  remember  them  all 
by  name.  There  are  so  many  of  them,"  he  said,  appar- 
ently reproaching  them  for  overcrowding.  He  rang  a 
bell  and  sent  for  his  secretary.  While  they  went  to 
fetch  his  secretary,  he  tried  to  persuade  Nekhlyudov  that 
he  should  serve,  saying  that  honest  and  noble-minded 
people,  including  himself  in  the  number,  were  especially 
useful  to  the  Tsar  —  "  and  the  country,"  he  added,  appar- 
ently as  an  adornment  of  speech. 

"I  am  old,  but  I  am  serving  so  far  as  my  strength 
permits." 

The  secretary,  a  dried-up,  lean  man,  with  restless,  clever 


394  RESURRECTION 

eyes,  arrived  and  informed  them  that  Shustov  was  kept  in 
some  strange  fortification,  and  that  no  document  in  refer- 
ence to  lier  had  been  received. 

"  We  shall  send  her  away  the  day  we  get  the  papers. 
We  do  not  keep  them,  and  we  are  not  particularly  proud 
of  their  visits,"  said  the  general,  again  with  an  attempt  at 
a  playful  smile,  which  only  contorted  his  old  face. 

Nekhlyiidov  arose,  trying  to  repress  an  expression  of 
a  mixed  feeling  of  disgust  and  pity,  which  he  experienced 
in  regard  to  this  terrible  old  man.  The  old  man,  on  his 
side,  thought  that  he  ought  not  to  be  too  severe  with  a 
frivolous  and,  obviously,  erring  son  of  his  comrade,  and 
ought  not  to  let  him  go  away  without  giving  him  some 
instruction. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear.  Don't  be  angry  with  me  for 
what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  I  tell  you  this  because  I 
like  you.  Don't  keep  company  with  the  people  who  are 
confined  here.  There  are  no  innocents.  They  are  all  a 
very  immoral  lot.  We  know  them,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
which  did  not  admit  the  possibility  of  a  doubt.  He 
really  did  not  doubt,  not  because  it  was  actually  so,  but 
because,  if  it  were  not  so,  he  could  not  regard  himself  as 
a  respected  hero  who  was  finishing  a  good  life  in  a  worthy 
manner,  but  as  a  villain  who  had  been  selling,  and  in  his 
old  age  still  continued  to  sell,  his  conscience. 

"  Best  of  all,  serve,"  he  continued.  "  The  Tsar  needs 
honest  men  —  and  so  does  the  country,"  he  added.  "  If  I 
and  all  the  others  refused  to  serve,  as  you  do,  who  would 
be  left  ?  We  condemn  the  order  of  things,  and  yet  do  not 
ourselves  wish  to  aid  the  government." 

Nekhlyiidov  drew  a  deep  breath,  made  a  low  bow,  con- 
descendingly pressed  the  large,  bony  hand  stretched  out 
to  him,  and  left  the  room. 

The  general  shook  his  head  in  disapproval,  and,  rubbing 
the  small  of  his  back,  again  entered  the  drawing-room, 
where  the  artist  was  awaiting  him,  with  the  answer  from 


KESURRECTION  395 

the  spirit  of  Joan  of  Arc  all  written  out.  The  general  put 
on  his  eye-glasses  and  read  :  "  They  will  recognize  each 
other  after  their  lights,  which  will  emanate  from  their 
ethereal  bodies." 

"  Ah/'  the  general  said  approvingly,  closing  his  eyes, 
"  but  how  are  you  going  to  tell  them  if  the  light  is  the 
same  with  all  ? "  he  asked,  and  again  sat  down  at  the  table, 
linking  his  fingers  with  those  of  the  artist. 

Nekhlyiidov's  cabman  came  out  of  the  gate. 

"  It  is  dull  here,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to  Nekhlyudov, 
"  and  I  wanted  to  leave,  without  waiting  for  your  return." 

"  Yes,  it  is  dull,"  Nekhlyudov  agreed  with  him,  inhaling 
the  air  with  full  lungs,  and  restfully  gazing  at  the  smoky 
clouds  that  were  scudding  along  the  sky,  and  at  the 
sparkling  waves  of  the  Neva,  rippling  from  the  boats  and 
steamers  that  were  moving  upon  it. 


XX. 

On  the  following  day  Maslova's  case  was  to  be  heard, 
aud  Nekhlyiidov  went  to  the  Senate,  The  lawyer  met 
him  at  the  grand  entrance  of  the  Senate  building,  where 
several  carriages  were  standing  already.  Mounting  the 
magnificent  parade  staircase  to  the  second  story,  the 
lawyer,  who  knew  all  the  corridors,  turned  to  the  left  to 
a  door,  on  which  was  written  the  year  of  the  introduction 
of  the  code  of  laws  governing  the  courts.  Having  taken 
off  his  overcoat  in  the  first  long  room,  and  having  learned 
from  the  porter  that  the  Senators  had  all  arrived,  and  the 
last  had  just  entered,  Fanarin,  now  left  in  his  dress  coat 
and  his  white  tie  on  his  white  bosom,  passed  into  the 
next  room  with  cheerful  self-confidence.  Here  there  was, 
on  the  right,  a  large  safe  and  then  a  table,  and,  on  the 
left,  a  winding  staircase,  down  which  now  came  an  ele- 
gant-looking official  in  a  vice-uniform,  with  a  portfolio 
under  his  arm. 

In  this  room  the  attention  was  attracted  by  a  patriar- 
chal old  man,  with  long  white  hair,  in  a  jacket  aud  gray 
pantaloons,  near  whom  stood  two  assistants  in  a  respect- 
ful attitude.  The  old  man  with  the  white  hair  went  up 
to  the  safe,  and  was  lost  in  it.  Just  then  Fanarin,  having 
spied  a  comrade  of  his,  a  lawyer  in  a  white  tie  and  in  a 
dress  coat,  immediately  entered  into  an  animated  conver- 
sation with  him.  In  the  meantime  Nekhlyiidov  watched 
those  who  were  in  the  room.  There  were  in  all  about 
fifteen  persons  present,  among  them  two  ladies.  One  of 
these  wore  eye-glasses,  and  the  other  was  a  gray-haired  old 

woman.     The  case  which  was  to  be  heard  was  in  regard 

396 


KESUKRECTION  397 

to  a  libel  of  the  press,  and  therefore  more  than  a  usual 
audience  had  assembled,  —  they  were  nearly  all  people 
belonging  to  the  newspaper  world. 

The  bailiff,  a  ruddy-faced,  handsome  man,  in  a  magnif- 
icent uniform,  with  a  note  in  his  hand,  walked  over  to 
Fauarin  to  ask  him  what  his  case  was,  and,  having  heard 
that  it  was  the  Maslova  case,  he  made  a  note  of  something 
and  went  away.  Just  then  the  door  of  the  safe  was 
opened,  and  the  patriarchal  old  man  emerged  from  it, 
no  longer  in  his  jacket,  but  in  a  galloon-embroidered  gar- 
ment, with  metal  plates  on  his  breast,  which  made  him 
look  like  a  bird. 

This  ridiculous  costume  apparently  embarrassed  the 
old  man  himself,  and  he  walked  more  rapidly  than  was 
his  custom  through  the  door  opposite  the  entrance. 

"  That  is  Be,  a  most  respectable  man,"  Fanarin  said  to 
Nekhlyiidov,  and,  introducing  him  to  his  colleague,  told 
him  of  the  extremely  interesting  case,  as  he  thought, 
which  was  to  be  heard  now. 

The  case  soon  began,  and  Nekhlyudov,  with  the  rest  of 
the  audience,  went  into  the  hail  on  the  left.  All  of  them, 
Fanarin  included,  went  behind  a  barrier,  to  seats  intended 
for  the  public.  Only  the  St.  Petersburg  lawyer  stepped 
out  beyond  the  barrier  to  a  writing-desk. 

The  hall  of  the  meetings  of  the  Senate  was  smaller 
than  the  one  of  the  Circuit  Court,  simpler  in  its  appoint- 
ments, and  differed  from  it  only  in  that  the  table,  at 
which  the  Senators  were  sitting,  was  not  covered  with 
green  cloth,  but  with  crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with 
gold  lace ;  all  the  other  attributes  of  the  execution  of 
justice  were  the  same  :  there  was  the  Mirror  of  Laws,i  the 
emblem  of  duplicity  —  the  holy  image,  and  the  emblem 
of  servility  —  the  portrait  of  the  emperor.  The  bailiff 
announced  in  the  same  solemn  voice,  "  The  court  is  com- 

1 A  triangular  prism  with  certain  laws  promulgated  by  Peter  the 
Great  printed  upon  it,  to  be  found  in  every  covirt. 


398  RESURRECTION 

ing."  All  rose  in  the  same  manner;  the  Senators,  in 
their  uniforms,  walked  in  in  the  same  way,  sat  down  in 
the  same  way  in  the  chairs  with  the  high  backs,  and 
in  the  same  way  leaned  over  the  table,  trying  to  look 
natural.  There  were  four  Senators :  the  presiding  judge, 
Nikitin,  a  clean-shaven  man,  with  a  narrow  face  and 
steel  eyes ;  Wolf,  with  compressed  lips  and  white  little 
hands,  with  which  he  fingered  some  sheets  of  paper ;  then 
Skovoroduikov,  a  fat,  massive,  pockmarked  man;  —  a 
learned  jurist ;  and  the  fourth,  Be,  that  patriarchal  old 
man  who  had  been  the  last  to  arrive.  With  the  Senators 
came  out  the  secretary-general  and  the  associate  prosecut- 
ing attorney-general,  a  middle-sized,  spare,  clean-shaven 
young  man,  with  a  very  dark  skin  and  black,  melancholy 
eyes.  In  spite  of  his  strange  uniform,  and  although  six 
years  had  passed  since  Nekhlyudov  had  last  seen  him,  he 
at  once  recognized  in  him  the  best  friend  of  his  student 
days. 

"Is  this  Associate  Prosecuting  Attorney-General  Sel^- 
nm?" 

"  Yes.     Why  ? " 

"  I  know  him  well.     He  is  a  fine  man  —  " 

"  And  an  excellent  associate  prosecuting  attorney-gen- 
eral, who  knows  his  business.  You  ought  to  have  asked 
him,"  said  Eanarin. 

"  He  will  in  any  case  be  conscientious,"  said  Nekhlyu- 
dov, recalling  his  close  relations  and  friendship  with 
Sel^nin,  and  his  gentle  qualities  of  purity,  honesty,  and 
decency,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word. 

"  It  is  too  late  now,"  Fanarin  whispered  to  him,  paying 
strict  attention  to  the  report  of  the  case. 

The  case  Vvas  an  appeal  to  the  verdict  of  the  Superior 
Court  which  had  left  unchanged  the  judgment  of  the 
Circuit  Court. 

Nekhlyudov  listened  and  tried  to  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  that  which  was  going  on  before  him,  but,  just  as 


RESURRECTION  399 

in  the  Circuit  Court,  the  chief  impediment  to  compre- 
hension lay  in  the  fact  that  they  were  not  considering 
that  which  naturally  seemed  to  be  the  main  point,  but 
a  side  issue.  The  case  under  advisement  was  an  article 
in  a  newspaper,  in  which  the  rascality  of  a  presiding  offi- 
cer of  a  certain  stock  company  had  been  brought  to  light. 
It  seemed  that  the  only  important  question  was  whether 
really  the  president  of  the  stock  company  was  fleecing 
his  creditors,  and  what  means  were  to  be  taken  to  stop 
him  from  stealing.  But  that  was  not  at  all  considered. 
The  only  question  they  discussed  was  whether  the  pub- 
lisher had  a  legal  right  to  print  the  article  of  the  feuille- 
ton  writer,  or  not,  and  what  crime  he  had  committed  by 
printing  it :  whether  it  was  a  defamation  or  libel,  and 
how  defamation  includes  libel,  or  libel  defamation,  and 
other  unintelligible  points  for  common  people  about 
various  articles  and  decrees  of  some  general  department. 

There  was  one  thing  which  Nekhlyiidov  understood, 
and  that  was  that,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Wolf, 
who  made  the  report  on  the  case,  and  who  on  the  previous 
day  had  so  sternly  informed  him  that  the  Senate  could 
not  consider  the  essence  of  a  case,  in  this  particular  affair 
reported  with  an  apparent  bias  in  favour  of  the  annul- 
ment of  the  verdict  of  the  Superior  Court,  and  that 
Sel^nin,  quite  out  of  keeping  with  his  characteristic  re- 
serve, suddenly  hotly  expressed  an  opposite  opinion.  The 
impassionedness  of  the  ever  reserved  SeMnin  was  based 
on  the  fact  that  he  knew  the  president  of  the  stock  com- 
pany as  unreliable  in  business  matters,  and  that  he  had 
accidentally  found  out  that  Wolf  had  almost  on  the  eve 
of  the  hearing  of  this  case  been  present  at  a  luxurious 
dinner  given  by  this  suspicious  business  man.  When 
now  Wolf  reported  in  an  apparently  biassed,  even  though 
very  cautious,  manner  on  the  case,  Sel^nin  became  excited 
and  expressed  his  opinion  with  greater  vigour  than  was 
necessary  for  such  a  usual  matter.     His  speech  evidently 


400  RESURRECTION 

offended  Wolf :  he  blushed,  twitched  his  muscles,  made 
silent  gestures  of  surprise,  and  with  a  very  dignified  and 
offended  look  retired  with  the  other  Senators  to  the  con- 
sultation-room. 

"  What  is  your  case  ?  "  the  bailiff  again  asked  Fanarin, 
the  moment  the  Senators  had  retired. 

"  I  have  told  you  before  that  I  am  here  to  hear  Mas- 
lova's  case,"  said  Fanarin. 

"That  is  so.     The  case  will  come  up  to-day.     But —  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  You  see,  it  has  been  put  down  without  discussion, 
and  the  Senators  will  hardly  come  out  after  the  announce- 
ment of  their  decision.     But  I  shall  inform  them  —  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  shall  inform  them,"  and  the  bailiff  made  a  note  of 
something  on  the  paper. 

The  Senators  actually  intended,  after  announcing  their 
decision  in  the  libel-suit,  to  finish  all  the  other  business, 
including  Maslova's  case,  at  tea  and  cigarettes,  without 
leaving  the  consultation-room. 


XXI. 

The  moment  the  Senators  sat  down  at  the  table  of  the 
consultation-room,  Wolf  began  in  a  very  animated  manner 
to  adduce  the  reasons  why  the  case  ought  to  be  annulled. 
The  presiding  Senator,  who  was  as  a  rule  not  well  dis- 
posed, happened  to  be  in  an  unusually  bad  humour. 
Listening  to  the  case  during  the  session,  he  had  formed 
his  opinion,  and  so  he  now  sat  lost  in  thought,  without 
paying  any  attention  to  what  Wolf  was  saying.  His 
thought  was  centred  on  the  consideration  of  w^hat  he 
had  written  the  day  before  in  his  memoirs  in  regard 
to  Vilyanov's  appointment,  instead  of  him,  to  that  impor- 
tant post  which  he  had  long  wished  to  get.  President 
Nikitin  was  very  firmly  convinced  that  his  reflections  on 
the  officials  of  the  highest  two  ranks,  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact  during  the  time  of  his  service,  formed  very 
important  historical  material.  Having  on  the  previous 
day  written  a  chapter,  in  which  he  gave  some  hard  knocks 
to  some  officials  of  the  first  two  classes  for  having  pre- 
vented him,  as  he  formulated  it,  from  saving  Eussia  from 
the  destruction  into  which  the  present  rulers  were  draw- 
ing it,  —  but  in  reality  for  having  kept  him  from  getting 
a  larger  salary  than  he  now  was  receiving,  —  he  now  was 
meditating  on  the  fact  that  this  circumstance  would  have 
an  entirely  new  light  thrown  upon  it  for  the  use  of  pos- 
terity. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  he  replied  to  Wolf's  words  which 
he  had  addressed  to  him,  but  wliich  he  had  not  heard. 
Be    listened    with    a    sad    countenance   to    what    Wolf 

401 


402  RESURRECTION 

was  saying,  drawing  garlands  on  the  paper  which  was 
lying  before  him.  Be  was  a  liberal  of  the  purest 
water.  He  sacredly  preserved  the  traditions  of  the 
sixties,  and  if  he  ever  departed  from  his  severe  im- 
partiality it  was  always  in  favour  of  liberalism.  Thus, 
in  the  present  case,  apart  from  the  fact  that  the  stock 
speculator,  who  had  brought  the  accusation  of  libel,  was 
an  unclean  individual,  Be  was  for  letting  the  complaint 
remain  without  consequences  because  this  accusation  of 
libel  against  a  writer  was  a  restraint  upon  the  freedom 
of  the  press.  When  Wolf  had  finished  his  proofs,  Be, 
without  having  finished  drawing  a  garland,  with  sadness, 
—  he  was  aggrieved  that  he  had  to  prove  such  truisms,  — 
in  a  soft,  pleasant  voice,  gently,  simply,  and  convincingly 
proved  the  groundlessness  of  the  complaint,  and,  lower- 
ing his  head  with  its  white  hair,  continued  to  draw  the 
garland. 

Skovorodnikov,  who  was  sitting  opposite  Wolf,  and 
who  was  all  the  time  pulling  his  beard  and  moustache 
into  his  mouth  with  his  fat  fingers,  the  moment  Be 
ceased  talking,  stopped  chewing  his  beard,  and  in  a  loud, 
creaking  voice  said  that,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
the  president  of  the  stock  company  was  a  great  scoundrel, 
he  would  be  for  the  annulment  of  the  verdict  if  there 
were  legal  reasons  for  it,  but  as  such  were  lacking,  he 
seconded  the  opinion  expressed  by  Ivan  Sem^novich  (Be), 
he  said,  enjoying  the  sting  which  he  had  thus  given  to 
Wolf.  The  presiding  Senator  sided  with  Skovorodnikov, 
and  the  case  was  decided  in  the  negative. 

Wolf  was  dissatisfied,  especially  since  he  was,  so  to  say, 
accused  of  dishonest  partiality.  However,  he  pretended 
to  be  indifferent  and  opened  the  next  case  to  be  reported 
upon,  that  of  Maslova,  and  buried  himself  in  it.  In 
the  meantime  the  Senators  rang  the  bell  and  asked  for 
tea ;  they  began  to  discuss  an  affair  which,  together  vsith 
Kamenski's  duel,  then  interested  all  the  Petersburgians. 


RESURRECTION  40 


Q 


It  was  the  case  of  a  director  of  a  department  who  had 
been  convicted  of  a  crime  provided  for  in  Article  995. 

"  What  baseness,"  Be  said,  in  disgust. 

"  What  evil  do  you  see  in  it  ?  I  shall  show  you  in  our 
literature  a  plan  of  a  German  writer  who  proposes  point- 
blank  that  this  should  not  be  regarded  as  a  crime, 
and  that  marriage  between  two  men  be  permitted,"  said 
Skovorodnikov,  eagerly  sucking  in  the  smoke  from  a 
crushed  cigarette  which  he  was  holding  at  the  roots  of 
his  fingers,  near  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  bursting  out 
into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  Be. 

"  I  shall  show  it  to  you,"  said  Skovorodnikov,  quoting 
the  full  title  of  the  work,  and  even  the  year  and  place  of 
pubhcation. 

"  They  say  he  is  to  be  appointed  governor  in  some 
Siberian  city,"  said  Nikitin. 

"  That  is  all  right.  The  bishop  will  come  out  to  meet 
him  with  the  cross.  They  ought  to  have  a  bishop  of 
the  same  kind.  I  could  recommend  a  bishop  to  them," 
said  Skovorodnikov,  and,  throwing  the  stump  of  the  ciga- 
rette into  the  ash-tray,  he  took  into  his  mouth  as  much  as 
he  could  of  his  beard  and  moustache,  and  began  to  chew 
at  them. 

Just  then  the  bailiff,  who  had  entered,  informed  them 
of  the  lawyer's  and  Nekhlyiidov's  desire  to  be  present  at 
the  discussion  of  Alaslova's  case. 

"  Now  this  case,"  said  Wolf,  "  is  a  whole  romance,"  and 
he  told  all  he  knew  about  Nekhlvudov's  relations  with 
Maslova.  After  having  talked  of  this,  and  having  fin- 
ished smoking  their  cigarettes  and  drinking  their  tea,  the 
Senators  went  into  the  hall  of  sessions,  announced  their 
decision  in  the  previous  case,  and  took  up  Maslova's. 

Wolf  in  his  thin  voice  reported  in  a  very  detailed 
manner  en  Maslova's  appeal  for  annulment,  and  again 
spoke  not  entirely  without   impartiality,   but  with  the 


404  RESURRECTION 

manifest  desire  to  have  the  judgment  of  the  court 
annulled. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  add  ? "  the  presiding  Senator 
addressed  Fanarin.  Fanarin  arose,  and,  expanding  his 
broad  white  chest,  began,  by  points,  and  with  remarkable 
impressiveness  and  precision,  to  prove  the  departure  of 
the  court  in  six  points  from  the  exact  meaning  of  the 
law,  and,  besides,  took  the  liberty  of  touching,  though 
briefly,  on  the  merits  of  the  case  itself,  and  on  the  crying 
injustice  of  the  verdict.  The  tone  of  Fanarin's  short  but 
strong  speech  was  to  the  effect  that  he  begged  the  Senate's 
indulgence  for  insisting  on  something  which  the  Senators, 
in  their  sagacity  and  judicial  wisdom,  saw  and  understood 
better  than  he,  saying  that  he  did  so  only  because  his  duty 
demanded  it.  After  Fanarin's  speech,  there  seemed  to  be 
not  the  least  doubt  but  that  the  Senate  would  reverse  the 
decision  of  the  court.  Having  finished  his  speech,  Fanarin 
smiled  a  victorious  smile. 

Looking  at  his  lawyer,  and  seeing  this  smUe,  Nekhlyil- 
dov  was  convinced  that  the  case  was  won.  But  when  he 
glanced  at  the  Senators,  he  noticed  that  Fanarin  was  the 
only  one  who  was  smiling  and  triumphing.  The  Senators 
and  the  associate  prosecuting  attorney-general  neither 
smiled  nor  triumphed,  but  had  the  aspect  of  people  who 
felt  ennui,  and  who  were  saying,  "  We  have  heard  a  lot 
of  your  kind  of  people,  and  that  all  leads  to  nothing." 
They  were  all,  apparently,  glad  when  the  lawyer  got 
through  and  stopped  delaying  them. 

Immediately  after  the  end  of  the  lawyer's  speech,  the 
presiding  officer  turned  to  the  associate  prosecuting  attor- 
ney-general. SeMnin  clearly  and  precisely  expressed  him- 
self in  a  few  words  against  the  reversal  of  the  judgment, 
finding  the  causes  for  the  annulment  insufficient.  There- 
upon the  Senators  arose  and  went  away  to  hold  their 
consultation.  In  the  consultation-room  the  votes  were 
divided.     Wolf  was  for  the  repeal.    Be  having  grasped 


RESUREECTION  405 

the  whole  matter,  also  very  warmly  sided  with  the  annul- 
ment, vividly  presenting  to  his  associates  a  picture  of  the 
court  and  the  misunderstanding  of  the  jury,  just  as  he 
had  comprehended  it  very  correctly.  Nikitin,  who  always 
stood  for  severity  in  general  and  for  severe  formality,  was 
against  it.  The  whole  affair  depended  on  Skovorodnikov's 
vote.  He  cast  it  against  a  reversal  chiefly  because  Nekli- 
lyudov's  determination  to  marry  this  girl  in  the  name  of 
moral  demands  was  in  the  highest  degree  distasteful  to 
him. 

Skovorodnikov  was  a  materialist  and  a  Darwinist,  and 
considered  all  manifestations  of  abstract  morahty,  or,  still 
worse,  of  rehgiousness,  not  only  a  contemptible  madness, 
but  a  personal  affront.  All  this  interest  in  the  prostitute, 
and  the  presence  in  the  Senate  of  a  famous  lawyer,  who 
was  defending  her,  and  of  Nekhlyudov  himself,  was  ex- 
tremely distasteful  to  him.  And  thus,  he  stuck  his  beard 
into  his  mouth  and,  making  a  grimace,  pretended  not  to 
know  anything  about  the  affair  except  that  the  causes  for 
annulment  were  insufficient,  and  that,  therefore,  he  agreed 
with  the  president  in  disregarding  the  appeal. 

The  appeal  was  denied. 


XXII. 

"  Tekkible  ! "  said  Nekhlyiidov,  walking  into  the  wait- 
ing-room with  the  lawyer,  who  was  arranging  his  portfolio. 
"  In  a  most  palpable  case  they  stickle  for  form,  and  refuse 
it.     Terrible !  " 

"  The  case  was  spoilt  in  court,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  And  Sel^niu  is  for  a  refusal !  Terrible,  terrible !  " 
Nekhlyiidov  continued  to  repeat.  "  What  is  to  be  done 
now  ? " 

"  Let  us  appeal  to  his  Majesty.  Hand  in  the  petition 
while  you  are  here.    I  shall  write  it  out  for  you." 

Just  then  thick-set  Wolf,  in  his  stars  and  uniform,  came 
into  the  waiting-room  and  walked  over  to  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  dear  prince  ?  There  were  not 
any  sufficient  causes,"  he  said,  shrugging  his  narrow 
shoulders  and  closing  his  eyes.     He  passed  on. 

After  Wolf  came  Sel^nin,  having  learned  from  the 
Senators  that  Nekhlyiidov,  his  former  friend,  was  there. 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  fiud  you  here,"  he  said,  going  up 
to  Nekhlyiidov,  smiling  with  his  lips,  while  his  eyes  re- 
mained sad.    "  I  did  not  know  you  were  in  St.  Petersburg." 

"  And  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  prosecuting  attor- 
ney-general —  " 

"  Associate,"  Sel^nin  corrected  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  the  Senate  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
sadly  and  gloomily  at  his  friend.  "  I  heard  that  you  were 
in  St.  Petersburg.     But  what  brings  you  here  ? " 

"  Here  ?     I  came  here,  hoping  to  find  justice  and  to 

save  an  innocent  condemned  womap." 

"  What  woman  ? 

406 


HESURRECTION  407 

"  She  whose  case  has  just  been  decided." 

"  Oh,  Maslova's  affair,"  Sel^niu  said,  recalling  it.  "  An 
entirely  uufoimded  appeal." 

"  The  question  is  uot  in  the  appeal,  but  in  the  woman, 
who  is  uot  guilty  and  yet  condemned." 

Sel(5nin  heaved  a  sigh  :  "  Very  likely,  but  —  " 

"  Not  very  likely,  but  absolutely  —  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Because  I  was  one  of  the  jury.  I  know  where  we 
made  a  mistake." 

Seleniu  fell  to  musing.  "  You  ought  to  have  announced 
it  then  and  there,"  he  said. 

"  I  did." 

"  You  ought  to  have  written  it  down  in  the  protocol. 
If  that  had  been  in  the  appeal  for  annulment  —  " 

"  But  it  was  manifest  as  it  is  that  the  verdict  was 
senseless." 

"  The  Senate  has  no  right  to  say  so.  If  the  Senate  should 
take  the  liberty  of  annulling  the  judgments  of  the  courts 
on  the  basis  of  their  own  views  of  their  justice,  not  only 
the  Senate  would  lose  every  point  of  support  and  would 
be  rather  in  danger  of  violating  justice  than  establishing 
it,"  Selenin  said,  recalling  the  previous  case,  "  but  the 
verdicts  of  the  juries  would  also  lose  their  meaning." 

"  I  know  this  much :  the  woman  is  absolutely  innocent, 
and  the  last  hope  to  save  her  from  an  unmerited  punish- 
ment is  gone.  The  highest  court  has  confirmed  a  case  of 
absolute  illegality." 

"  It  has  not  confirmed  it,  because  it  has  not  considered, 
and  it  cannot  consider,  the  merits  of  the  case  itself,"  said 
SeMnin,  blinking. 

Selenin,  who  was  always  busy  at  home  and  never  went 
out  in  society,  had  apparently  heard  nothing  of  Nekhlyu- 
dov's  romance;  and  Nekhlyiidov,  being  aware  of  this, 
decided  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  speak  of  his 
relations  with  Maslova. 


408  RESUKRECTION 

"  You,  no  doubt,  are  stopping  with  your  aunt,"  he  added, 
evidently  wishing  to  change  the  subject.  "  I  heard  only 
yesterday  from  her  that  you  were  here.  The  countess 
invited  me  to  be  with  you  at  the  meeting  of  the  visiting 
preacher,"  said  Sel^uin,  smiling  with  his  lips  only. 

"  Yes,  I  was  there,  but  went  away  in  disgust,"  angrily 
said  Nekhlyiidov,  provoked  at  Sel^nin  for  changing  the 
subject. 

"  But  why  in  disgust  ?  It  is,  nevertheless,  a  mani- 
festation of  religious  feeling,  even  though  one-sided  and 
sectarian,"  said  Sel^nin. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  some  wild  insipidity,"  said  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

"  Not  at  all.  The  only  strange  thing  about  it  is  that 
we  know  so  little  the  teachings  of  our  own  church  that  we 
receive  our  fundamental  dogmas  as  a  kind  of  new  reve- 
lation," said  Selt^nin,  as  though  hastening  to  express  his 
views,  which  were  new   to  his  old  friend. 

Nekhlyudov  looked  at  SeMnin  with  surprised  attention. 
Seleuin  lowered  his  eyes,  in  w^hich  there  was  an  expression 
not  only  of  sadness,  but  of  hostility  as  well. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  the  dogmas  of  the  church  ? " 
Nekhlyudov  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  Sel^nin  replied,  gazing  with  a 
straight  and  dead  stare   at  Nekhlyudov. 

Nekhlyudov  sighed.      "  Eemarkable,"  he  said. 

"  However,  we  shall  speak  of  it  later,"  said  Sel^nin. 
"  I  am  coming,"  he  turned  to  the  bailiff,  who  had  walked 
up  to  him  with  a  respectful  gait.  "  We  must  by  all 
means  see  each  other,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh.  "  But 
shall  I  find  you  at  home  ?  You  will  always  find  me  at 
home  at  seven  o'clock,  at  dinner.  Nad^zhdinskaya,"  and 
he  gave  the  number  of  the  house.  "  Much  water  has 
flowed  since  then,"  he  added,  walking  away,  and  again 
smihng  with  his  lips  alone. 

"  I  shall  come  if  I  have  time,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  feel- 


RESURRECTION  409 

ing  that  Sel^nin,  who  had  once  been  a  close  and  favourite 
friend  of  his,  had  suddenly  become,  in  consequence  of  this 
short  conversation,  strange,  distant,  and  unintelligible,  if 
not  hostile. 


XXIIL 

When  Nekhlyudov  knew  SeMnin  as  a  student,  he  was  a 
good  son,  a  faithful  comrade,  and,  accordmg  to  his  years, 
a  cultivated  man  of  the  world,  with  much  tact,  always 
elegant  and  handsome,  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  extraor- 
dinary truthfulness  and  honesty.  He  studied  beautifully 
without  any  effort  and  without  a  sign  of  pedantry,  receiv- 
ing gold  medals  for  his  themes.  Not  only  in  words,  but 
in  deeds,  he  made  serving  people  the  aim  of  his  youthful 
life.  This  service  he  never  presented  to  himself  in  any 
other  form  than  as  a  government  service,  and  therefore, 
the  moment  he  graduated,  he  systematically  passed  in 
review  all  the  activities  to  which  he  might  devote  his 
energy,  and  decided  that  he  would  be  most  useful  in  the 
second  division  of  the  Private  Chancery,  which  has  charge 
of  the  making  of  laws,  and  so  he  entered  there.  But,  in 
spite  of  the  most  precise  and  conscientious  execution  of 
everything  demanded  of  him,  he  did  not  in  this  service 
find  a  satisfaction  for  his  desire  to  be  useful,  and  could 
not  appease  his  conscience  with  the  thought  that  he  was 
doing  the  right  thing.  This  discontent  was  so  strength- 
ened by  his  conflicts  with  the  petty  and  vainglorious 
superior  immediately  above  him,  that  he  left  the  second 
division,  and  transferred  himself  to  the  Senate. 

Here  he  was  more  at  ease,  but  the  feeling  of  discontent 
pursued  him  still.  He  did  not  cease  feeling  that  it  was 
all  different  from  what  he  had  expected  and  what  it 
ought  to  be.  Wliile  occupying  his  post  in  the  Senate,  his 
relative  obtained  for  him  an  appointment  as  Yunker  of 

410 


llfiSURRECTION  411 

the  Chamber,  and  he  was  obliged  to  drive  out  in  an  em- 
broidered uniform,  and  a  white  linen  apron,  in  a  carriage, 
to  thank  all  kinds  of  people  for  having  promoted  him  to 
the  dignity  of  a  lackey.  However  much  he  tried,  he 
could  not  discover  a  sensible  explanation  for  this  office. 
And  he  felt  even  more  than  in  the  service  that  it  was 
"  not  it ; "  at  the  same  time  he  could  not  refuse  this 
appointment,  on  the  one  hand,  in  order  not  to  offend 
those  who  were  convinced  that  they  had  given  him  a 
great  pleasure,  while,  on  the  other,  the  appointment 
flattered  the  lower  quahties  of  his  nature,  and  it  gave 
him  pleasure  to  see  himself  in  the  mirror  in  an  em- 
broidered gold  lace  uniform,  and  to  enjoy  that  respect 
which  his  appointment  elicited  from  certain  people. 

The  same  thing  happened  with  him  in  regard  to  his 
marriage.  They  arranged  for  him  a  very  brilliant  mar- 
riage, from  the  standpoint  of  society.  And  he  married, 
mainly  because  by  refusing  to  he  would  have  offended 
and  pained  the  bride,  who  was  very  anxious  to  marry 
him,  and  those  who  had  arranged  the  marriage  for  him ; 
as  also,  because  his  marrying  a  young,  sweet,  aristocratic 
maiden  flattered  his  vanity  and  gave  liim  pleasure.  But 
the  marriage  soon  proved  to  be  "  not  it "  in  a  far  greater 
way  than  the  service  and  his  court  duties.  After  the  first 
baby  was  born,  his  wife  did  not  want  to  have  any  more 
children,  and  began  to  lead  a  luxurious  society  life,  in 
which  he  was  compelled  to  take  part  against  his  will. 

She  was  not  particularly  beautiful,  was  faithful  to  him, 
and,  although  she  poisoned  her  husband's  life  by  it,  and 
herself  gained  nothing  from  it  but  an  expenditure  of 
terrible  strength,  and  weariness,  she  continued  intently  to 
lead  such  a  life.  All  attempts  of  his  to  change  this 
existence  were  wrecked,  as  against  a  stone  wall,  against 
her  conviction  that  it  had  to  be  so,  in  which  opinion  she 
was  supported  by  her  relatives  and  acquaintances. 

The  child,  a  girl,  with  long  golden  locks  and  bare  legs, 


412  RESURRECTION 

was  entirely  estranged  from  her  father,  more  especially 
because  she  was  brought  up  differently  from  what  he  had 
wished  her  to  be.  Between  the  married  couple  naturally 
arose  misunderstanding  and  even  an  absence  of  any  desire 
to  understand  each  other,  and  a  quiet,  silent  struggle,  con- 
cealed from  outsiders  and  moderated  by  proprieties,  which 
made  hfe  for  him  at  home  exceedingly  hard.  Thus,  his 
domestic  life  proved,  even  more  than  liis  service  and 
court  appointment,  to  be  "  not  it." 

His  relation  to  religion  was,  however,  most  "not  it." 
Like  all  people  of  his  circle  and  time,  he  had,  without 
the  least  effort,  by  his  mental  growth,  broken  those 
fetters  of  religious  superstitions  in  which  he  had  been 
brought  up,  and  he  did  not  know  liimself  when  that 
liberation  had  taken  place.  Being  a  serious  and  honest 
man,  he  did  not  conceal  this  freedom  from  the  super- 
stitions of  the  official  religion  while  he  was  still  young, 
during  his  student  days  and  his  friendship  with  Nekh- 
Iviidov. 

But  with  advancing  years  and  rise  in  service,  especially 
during  the  reaction  of  conservatism  which  had  in  the 
meantime  taken  possession  of  society,  this  spiritual  free- 
dom stood  in  his  way.  Not  only  in  his  domestic  rela- 
tions, especially  at  the  death  of  his  father,  at  the  masses 
for  his  soul,  and  because  his  mother  desired  him  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  the  sacrament,  and  public  opinion  partly 
demanded  this,  —  but  even  in  his  service  he  had  continu- 
ally to  be  present  at  prayers,  dedications,  and  thanks- 
givings, and  other  similar  services :  hardly  a  day  passed 
without  his  coming  in  contact  with  some  external  forms 
of  religion,  which  it  was  impossible  to  avoid.  Being 
present  at  these  services,  one  of  two  things  had  to  be 
done :  either  he  had  to  pretend  (which,  with  his  truthful 
character  he  never  could  do)  that  he  believed  in  that  in 
which  he  did  not  believe,  or,  acknowledging  all  these 
external  forms  to  be  a  he,  so  to  arrange  his  life  as  not  to 


RESURRECTION"  413 

be  compelled  to  be  present  at  what  he  considered  to  be 
a  lie. 

But,  in  order  to  accomplish  this  apparently  unimportant 
deed,  very  much  had  to  be  done :  it  was  necessary  to  take 
up  an  unending  struggle  with  all  his  close  friends ;  it  was 
necessary  to  change  his  position,  to  give  up  his  service, 
and  to  sacrifice  all  his  usefulness,  which  he  now  was  con- 
vinced he  brought  people  by  his  service,  and  hoped  even 
to  increase  in  the  future.  And  in  order  to  do  this,  it  was 
necessary  to  be  convinced  of  the  justice  of  his  views.  Of 
this  he  was  as  firmly  convinced  as  every  cultivated  man 
of  our  time  must  be  of  the  justice  of  his  sound  reason,  if 
he  knows  anything  of  history,  and  if  he  knows  anything 
of  the  origin  of  rehgion  in  general,  and  of  the  origin  and 
decay  of  the  Church-Christian  religion  in  particular.  He 
could  not  help  knowing  that  he  was  right  in  refusing  to 
acknowledge  the  truth  of  the  Church  teachings.  But, 
under  the  pressure  of  the  conditions  of  life,  he,  a  veracious 
man,  permitted  himself  a  small  lie,  which  consisted  in 
saying  to  himself  that,  in  order  to  assert  that  the  sense- 
lessness is  senseless,  it  is  necessary  first  to  study  that 
senselessness.  This  was  a  small  he,  but  it  led  him  to 
that  great  lie,  in  which  he  now  was  stuck  fast. 

In  putting  the  question  to  himself  whether  that  Ortho- 
doxy, in  which  he  had  been  born  and  brought  up,  which 
was  demanded  of  him  by  all  those  who  surrounded  him, 
and  without  which  he  could  not  continue  his  useful  ac- 
tivity among  men,  was  right,  —  he  had  already  prejudged 
it.  Therefore,  in  order  to  elucidate  this  question,  he  did 
not  take  Voltaire,  Schopenhauer,  Spencer,  Kant,  but  the 
philosophical  works  of  Hegel,  and  the  religious  books  of 
Vinet  and  Khomyakdv,  and  he  naturally  found  in  them 
what  he  wanted :  a  semblance  of  acquiescence  and  justi- 
fication of  that  religious  teaching  in  which  he  had  been 
educated,  wliich  his  reason  had  long  rejected,  but  without 
which  all  his  life  was  filled  with  annoyances,  and  by  the 


414  RESURRECTION 

acceptance  of  which  all  these  annoyances  would  at  once 
be  removed. 

He  appropriated  all  those  customary  sophisms  that  the 
separate  reason  of  man  cannot  comprehend  truth,  that 
truth  is  revealed  only  to  the  aggregate  of  humankind,  that 
the  only  means  for  conceiving  it  is  the  revelatiou,  that  rev- 
elation is  in  the  keeping  of  the  church,  and  so  forth. 
Since  then  he  could  calmly,  without  being  conscious  of 
the  lie,  be  present  at  prayers  and  masses,  take  the  sacra- 
ment, 'and  cross  himself  before  the  images,  and  he  could 
continue  in  his  post,  which  gave  him  the  consciousness  of 
his  utihty  and  a  consolation  in  his  cheerless  domestic 
life.  He  thought  that  he  believed,  and  yet  he  was  con- 
scious with  all  his  being,  even  more  than  in  anything 
else,  that  this  faith  was  absolutely  "  not  it."  And  it  was 
this  that  made  his  eyes  look  so  melancholy.  And  it 
was  this  which  caused  him,  at  the  sight  of  Nekhlyiidov, 
whom  he  used  to  know  when  these  hes  had  not  taken 
possession  of  him,  to  recall  the  time  when  he  was  still 
different ;  especially  after  he  had  hastened  to  hint  to  him 
about  his  religious  views,  he  felt  more  than  ever  that  all 
this  was  "  not  it,"  and  he  was  overcome  by  painful  mel- 
ancholy. The  same  sensation  took  possession  of  Nekh- 
lyiidov, after  the  first  impression  of  joy  in  seeing  liis  old 
friend  had  passed. 

It  was  for  this  reason  that,  although  they  had  promised 
to  see  each  other,  neither  of  them  sought  the  meeting,  and 
they  never  again  met  during  Nekhlyiidov's  stay  in  St. 
Petersburg. 


XXIV. 

Upon  leaving  the  Senate,  Nekhlyiidov  walked  down 
the  sidewalk  with  the  lawyer.  The  lawyer  ordered  his 
carriage  to  follow  him,  and  began  to  tell  Nekhlyiidov  the 
history  of  that  director  of  a  department  of  whose  convic- 
tion the  Senators  had  been  talking,  and  who,  instead  of 
being  condemned  to  hard  labour,  was  to  be  appointed 
governor  in  Siberia.  He  told  him  the  whole  story,  and 
all  its  nastiness,  and  also  expatiated  with  especial  pleasure 
on  the  story  of  the  highly  placed  persons  who  had  stolen 
the  money  which  had  been  collected  for  the  construction 
of  the  unfinished  monument  past  which  they  had  driven 
in  the  morning  ;  and  of  how  the  mistress  of  a  certain  man 
had  made  millions  at  the  Exchange ;  and  of  how  one  had 
sold  and  the  other  had  bought  a  wife ;  then  he  began  his 
narrative  about  the  rascalities  and  all  kinds  of  crimes  of 
the  higher  officials  of  government,  who  were  not  confined 
in  jails,  but  occupied  president's  chairs  in  various  institu- 
tions. These  stories,  of  which  the  supply  seemed  to  be 
inexhaustible,  caused  the  lawyer  much  pleasure,  since  they 
gave  evident  proof  of  the  fact  that  the  means  which  he, 
the  lawyer,  employed  to  make  money  were  quite  lawful 
and  innocent  in  comparison  with  the  means  employed  for 
the  same  purpose  by  the  highest  functionaries  at  St. 
Petersburg.  Therefore,  the  lawyer  was  very  much  sur- 
prised when  Nekhlyiklov  did  not  wait  for  the  end  of  the 
last  story  about  the  crimes  of  the  officials,  but  bade  him 
good-bye  and  took  a  cab  to  drive  him  home. 

Nekhlyudov  felt  very  sad.  He  was  sad  more  especially 
because  the  Senate's  refusal  confirmed  the  senseless  torture 

415 


416  EESURRECTION 

of  innocent  Maslova,  and  because  this  refusal  made  more 
difficult  his  unchangeable  determination  to  unite  his  fate 
with  hers.  This  melancholy  was  increased  by  those  terri- 
ble stories  of  the  reigning  evil,  of  which  the  lawyer  had 
been  telling  him  with  such  delight ;  in  addition  to  this,  he 
continually  thought  of  the  grim,  cold,  repelling  look  of 
Sel^nin,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  gentle,  frank,  and  noble- 
minded  man. 

When  Nekhlyildov  returned  home,  the  porter,  with  a 
certain  contemptuous  look,  handed  him  a  note  which 
a  certain  woman,  so  he  expressed  himself,  had  written  in 
the  porter's  lodge.  It  was  a  note  from  Miss  Shustov's 
mother.  She  wrote  that  she  had  come  to  thank  the  bene- 
factor and  saviour  of  her  daughter,  and,  besides,  to  beg  and 
implore  him  to  call  at  their  house,  on  the  Vasilev  Island, 
Fifth  Avenue,  Number  so  and  so.  This  was  very  neces- 
sary for  the  sake  of  Vy^ra  Efr^movna.  She  said  he  need 
not  be  afraid  of  being  annoyed  by  expressions  of  gratitude, 
that  this  would  not  even  be  mentioned,  but  that  they  would 
be  very  happy  to  see  him.  If  he  could,  he  should  come 
the  next  morning. 

There  was  also  another  note  from  his  former  comrade, 
Aid-de-camp  Bogatyr^v,  whom  Nekhlyudov  had  asked  to 
hand  in  person  to  the  emperor  the  petition  in  the  name 
of  the  sectarians.  Bogatyr^v  wrote  in  his  large,  firm  hand 
that  he  would  hand  the  petition  to  the  emperor,  as  he 
had  promised,  but  that  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  well  for  Nekhlyildov  to  go  and  see  the 
person  on  whom  the  matter  depended,  and  to  ask  him  to 
use  his  influence. 

After  the  impressions  of  the  last  few  days  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, Nekhlyildov  was  in  a  state  of  complete  hopelessness 
as  regards  the  success  of  anything.  His  plans,  which  he 
had  formed  in  Moscow,  appeared  to  him  like  those  youthful 
dreams,  in  which  people  are  invariably  disenchanted  when 
they  enter  life.     Still,  while  he  was  in  St.  Petersburg,  he 


RESURRECTION  417 

regarded  it  as  his  duty  to  fulfil  every  tiling  he  had  set  out 
to  do,  aud  so  he  resolved  to  call  on  Bogatyr^v,  after  which 
he  would  go  and  see  the  person  on  whom  the  affair  of  the 
sectarians  depended. 

He  drew  the  petition  of  the  sectarians  out  of  his  port- 
foho  and  began  to  read  it,  when  the  lackey  of  Countess 
Ekaterina  Ivanovna  knocked  at  the  door  and  entered,  in- 
viting liim  up-stairs  to  tea. 

Nekhlyvidov  said  he  would  be  there  at  once.  Having 
put  away  his  papers,  he  went  to  his  aunt's  rooms.  On 
his  way  up,  he  looked  through  the  window  into  the  street 
and  saw  the  span  of  Mariette's  bays,  and  he  suddenly  felt 
unexpectedly  happy,  and  wished  to  smile. 

Mariette,  in  a  hat  no  longer  black,  but  of  some  bright 
colour,  and  a  many-coloured  dress,  was  sitting  with  a  cup 
in  her  hand  near  the  countess's  armchair,  and  was  chat- 
tering, beaming  with  her  beautiful,  smiling  eyes.  As 
Nekhlyudov  entered  the  room,  Mariette  had  just  finished 
telling  something  funny,  something  indecently  funny, — 
this  Nekhlyiidov  saw  from  the  character  of  the  laughter, 
—  so  that  the  good-natured,  mustachioed  Countess  Eka- 
terina Ivanovna  shook  with  her  stout  body,  rolling  from 
laughter,  while  Mariette,  with  a  peculiarly  mischievous 
expression,  twisting  her  smiling  mouth  a  little,  and  turn- 
ing her  energetic  and  merry  face  to  one  side,  looked  silently 
at  her  interlocutor. 

Nekhlyiidov  understood  from  the  few  words  which  he 
heard  that  they  had  been  speaking  about  the  second 
latest  St.  Petersburg  news,  —  the  episode  of  the  Siberian 
governor,  and  that  it  was  in  this  region  that  Mariette 
had  said  something  so  funny  that  the  countess  could  not 
for  a  long  time  control  herself. 

"  You  will  kill  me,"  she  said,  coughing. 

Nekhlyiidov  greeted  them  aud  sat  down  near  them. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  condemning  Mariette  for  her 
frivolity,  when    she,   noticing  the    serious    and    shghtly 


418  RESURRECTION 

dissatisfied  expression  of  his  face,  immediately  changed, 
not  only  the  expression  of  hers,  Lnt  also  her  whole  mood, 
in  order  that  she  might  please  him,  ^ — and  this  she  had 
desired  to  do  ever  since  she  had  met  him.  She  suddenly 
grew  serious,  discontented  with  her  life,  seeking  some- 
thing, and  striving  for  sumething.  She  did  not  exactly 
simulate  the  mood  Nekhlyudov  was  in,  but  actually 
appropriated  it  to  herself,  although  she  would  not  have 
been  able  to  express  in  words  what  it  consisted  in,  • 

She  asked  him  how  he  had  succeeded  in  his  affairs. 
He  told  her  about  his  failure  in  the  Senate  and  about  his 
meeting  with  Sel^nin. 

"  Ah,  what  a  pure  soul !  Now  this  is  really  a  chevalier 
sans  peur  et  sans  reproche.  A  pure  soul,"  both  ladies  used 
the  invariable  epithet  under  which  Sel^nin  was  known  in 
society. 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  his  wife  ? "  Nekhlyudov 
asked. 

"  She  ?  Well,  I  am  not  going  to  condemn  her.  But 
she  does  not  understand  him." 

"  Is  it  possible  he,  too,  was  for  denying  the  appeal  ? " 
she  asked,  with  sincere  sympathy.  "  That  is  terrible, 
and  I  am  very  sorry  for  her ! "  she  added,  with  a 
sigh. 

He  frowned,  and,  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  began 
to  speak  of  Miss  Shustov,  who  had  been  confined  in  the 
prison,  and  now  was  released  by  her  intercession.  He 
thanked  her  for  her  appeal  to  her  husband  and  wanted 
to  tell  her  how  terrible  it  w^as  to  think  that  that  woman 
and  her  whole  family  suffered  only  because  nobody 
thought  of  them,  but  before  he  had  a  chance  to  finish 
saying  what  he  wanted  to  say,  she  herself  expressed  her 
indignation. 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  she  said.  "  The  moment  my  husband 
told  me  that  she  could  be  released,  I  was  struck  by  that 
idea.      Why   was    she    kept,   if    she  is    innocent  ? "    she 


KESUKRECTION  419 

said,  expressing  ISTekhlyiidov's  thought.  "  It  is  shocking, 
shocking ! " 

Countess  Ekaterma  Ivanovna  saw  that  Mariette  was 
coquetting  with  her  nephew,  and  this  amused  her.  "  Do 
you  know  what  ? "  she  said,  when  they  grew  silent,  "  come 
to-morrow  to  Ahne's  house:  Kiesewetter  will  be  there. 
And  you  too,"  she  turned  to  Mariette. 

"  II  vous  a  remarque"  she  said  to  her  nephew.  "  He 
told  me  that  everything  you  said  —  I  told  him  about  it 
■ —  was  a  good  sign,  and  that  you  will  certainly  come  to 
Christ.  Go  there  by  all  means.  Tell  him,  Mariette, 
to  come,  and  come  yourself." 

"  Countess,  in  the  first  place,  I  have  no  right  to  advise 
the  prince,"  said  Mariette,  looking  at  Nekhlyiidov,  and 
with  this  glance  establishing  between  him  and  herself  a 
full  agreement  in  regard  to  the  words  of  the  countess  and 
to  evangelism  in  general,  "  and  in  the  second  place,  I  am 
not  very  fond,  you  know  —  " 

"  You  always  do  everything  topsyturvy  and  in  your 
own  way." 

"  How  so  in  my  own  way  ?  I  believe  like  the  com- 
monest kind  of  a  woman.  And,  in  the  third  place,"  she 
continued,  "  I  shall  go  to  the  French  Theatre  to-morrow." 

"  Ah  !  Have  you  seen  that  —  well,  what  is  her  name  ?  " 
said  Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna. 

Mariette  helped  her  out  with  the  name  of  a  famous 
French  actress. 

"  Go  there  by  all  means,  she  is  remarkable." 

"  Whom  am  I  to  see  first,  ma  tante,  the  actress  or  the 
preacher  ? "  said  Nekhlyiidov,  smiling. 

"  Please,  don't  catch  me  at  words." 

"  I  think,  first  the  preacher  and  then  the  French  actress, 
otherwise  I  shall  lose  all  my  interest  in  the  sermon,"  said 
Nekhlyiidov. 

"  No,  you  had  better  begin  with  the  French  Theatre, 
and  then  repent  of  your  sins,"  said  Mariette. 


420  RESURRECTION 

"Don't  dare  make  fun  of  me!  The  preacher  is  one 
thina,  and  the  theatre  another.  In  order  to  be  saved  it 
is  not  necessary  to  make  a  face  a  yard  long  and  weep  all 
the  time.     One  must  beheve,  and  then  you  are  happy." 

"  Ma  tante,  you  preach  better  than  any  preacher." 

"Do  you  know  what,"  said  Mariette,  thoughtfully, 
"  come  to-morrow  to  my  opera-box." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  sha'n't  be  able  —  " 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  lackey's 
announcement  of  a  visitor.  It  was  the  secretary  of  a 
charitable  institution,  of  which  the  countess  was  the 
president. 

"  He  is  a  dreadfully  tiresome  man.  I  had  better  receive 
him  in  there.  And  then  I  shall  come  out  here  again. 
Give  him  tea  to  drink,  Mariette,"  said  the  countess,  walk- 
ing to  the  parlour,  with  her  rapid,  waddling  gait. 

Mariette  took  off  her  glove  and  laid  bare  an  energetic, 
sufficiently  flat  hand,  with  its  ring-finger  covered  with 
rings. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cup  ? "  she  said,  taking  hold  of  the 
silver  teapot  over  the  spirit-lamp,  and  strangely  spreading 
out  her  little  finger. 

Her  face  became  serious  and  sad. 

"  It  is  always  terrible,  terrible  and  painful,  for  me  to 
think  that  people,  whose  opinion  I  value,  should  con- 
found me  with  the  situation  in  which  I  am  placed." 

She  looked  as  though  ready  to  weep,  as  she  was  saying 
these  words.  Although,  upon  analysis,  these  words  had 
either  no  sense  at  all,  or  only  a  very  indefinite  meaning, 
they  seemed  to  Nekhlyudov  to  be  of  unusual  depth, 
sincerity,  and  goodness,  —  for  he  was  attracted  by  the 
glance  of  those  sparkling  eyes,  which  accompanied  the 
words  of  the  young,  beautiful,  and  well-dressed  woman. 

Nekhlyudov  looked  at  her  in  silence,  and  could  not 
tear  his  eyes  away  from  her  face. 

"  You  think  that  I  do  not  understand  you  and  every- 


RESURRECTION  421 

thing  that  takes  place  within  you.  That  which  you  have 
done  is  known  to  all.  C'est  le  secret  de  polichinelle.  And 
I  rejoice  in  it  and  approve  of  it." 

"  Eeally,  there  is  nothing  to  rejoice  in ;  I  have  done  so 
Httle  as  yet." 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  I  understand  your  feeling, 
and  I  understand  her.  Well,  well,  I  sha'n't  speak  of  it," 
she  interrupted  herself,  noticing  an  expression  of  dissatis- 
faction on  his  face.  "  I  also  understand  that,  having  seen 
all  the  suffering  and  all  the  horrors  of  the  prisons,"  said 
Mariette,  who  had  but  the  one  wish,  to  attract  him,  with 
her  feminine  feeling  guessing  all  that  might  be  important 
and  dear  to  him,  "  you  wisli  to  succour  all  those  people 
who  suffer  and  suffer  so  terribly,  so  terribly  from  men, 
from  indifference,  from  cruelty  —  I  comprehend  how  one 
may  give  his  life  for  it,  and  I  myself  should  give  up 
mine.     But  everybody  has  his  lot  —  " 

"  Are  you  dissatisfied  with  yours  ? " 

"  I  ? "  she  asked,  as  though  startled  by  such  a  question. 
"  I  have  to  be  satisfied,  and  I  am.  But  there  is  a  worm 
which  awakens  —  " 

"  You  ought  not  to  permit  it  to  fall  asleep.  You  must 
trust  this  voice,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  submitting  completely 
to  the  deception. 

Afterward  Nekhlyudov  often  thought  with  shame  of 
his  whole  conversation  with  her ;  he  thought  of  her 
words,  which  were  not  so  much  false  as  simulating  his 
own,  and  of  her  face,  feigning  humble  attention,  as  she 
listened  to  his  recital  of  the  horrors  of  the  prison  and  of 
his  impressions  of  the  country. 

When  the  countess  returned,  they  were  conversing,  not 
only  as  old,  but  as  intimate  friends,  like  those  who  under- 
stand each  other  in  a  throng  of  men,  who  do  not  compre- 
hend them. 

They  spoke  of  the  injustice  of  the  government,  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  unfortunates,  of  the  poverty  of  the 


422  KESURRECTION" 

masses,  but  in  reality  their  eyes,  which  watched  each 
other  through  the  sounds  of  the  conversation,  kept  asking, 
"  Can  you  love  me  ? "  and  answered,  "  I  can,"  and  tlie 
sexual  feeling,  assuming  the  most  unexpected  and  joyous 
aspect,  drew  tliem  one  to  the  other. 

As  she  was  leaving,  she  told  him  that  she  was  always 
ready  to  serve  him  to  the  best  of  her  ability,  and  asked  him 
to  be  sure  and  come  to  see  her  in  the  theatre  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening,  at  least  for  a  moment,  as  she  had  to  talk 
to  him  about  one  important  matter. 

"  For  when  shall  I  see  you  again  ? "  she  added,  with  a 
sigh,  carefully  putting  the  glove  on  her  ring-bedecked 
hand.     "  Say  that  you  will  come." 

Nekhlyiidov  promised  he  would. 

During  that  night,  Nekhlyiidov,  being  all  alone  in  his 
room,  lay  down  on  his  bed  and  put  out  the  light.  He 
could  not  sleep  for  a  long  time.  Thinking  of  Maslova,  of 
the  decree  of  the  Senate,  and  yet  of  his  determination  to 
follow  her,  of  bis  renunciation  of  his  rights  to  the  land, 
there  appeared  suddenly  before  him,  as  though  in  reply  to 
his  questions,  Mariette's  face,  her  sigh,  and  her  glance, 
when  she  said,  "  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ? "  and  her 
smile ;  she  appeared  before  him  as  clearly  as  though  she 
were  actually  standing  before  him,  and  he  smiled.  "  Am 
I  doing  well  to  go  to  Siberia  ?  And  shall  I  be  doing 
well  in  giving  up  my  wealth  ? "  he  asked  himself. 

The  answers  to  these  questions  on  that  clear  St.  Peters- 
burg night,  which  streamed  in  through  the  half-drawn 
blinds,  were  indistinct.  Everything  was  mixed  in  his 
head.  He  called  back  his  former  mood,  and  thought  of 
his  former  ideas,  but  they  no  longer  had  their  former 
convincing  power. 

"  I  have  evoked  all  this  in  my  imagination,  and  shall 
not  be  able  to  live  according  to  it :  I  shall  repent  doing 
good,"  he  said  to  himself,  and,  not  being  able  to  answer 
these  questions,  he  experienced  such  a  feeling  of  pining 


RESURRECTION  423 

aud  despair  as  he  had  not  experienced  for  a  long  time. 
Unable  to  find  liis  way  through  the  maze  of  these  ques- 
tions, he  fell  into  that  heavy  sleep  which  used  to  come 
over  him  after  some  great  loss  at  cards. 


XXV. 

Upon  awakening  on  the  next  morning,  Nekhlyudov's 
first  feeling  was  that  he  had  on  the  previous  day  com- 
mitted some  villainy.  He  began  to  reflect:  there  was 
no  villainy,  no  bad  act,  but  there  were  thoughts,  bad 
thoughts,  which  were  that  all  his  present  intentions,  his 
marrying  Katyusha,  his  gift  of  the  land  to  the  peasants, 
that  all  this  was  an  unreahzable  dream,  that  he  would 
not  carry  it  to  its  conclusion,  that  it  was  all  artificial, 
unnatural,  and  that  he  ought  to  live  as  he  had  been 
living.  There  was  no  bad  act,  but  there  was  that  which 
was  much  worse  than  a  bad  act:  there  were  those 
thoughts  from  which  spring  all  bad  deeds. 

A  bad  act  may  not  be  repeated,  and  one  may  repent  of 
it ;  but  evil  thoughts  generate  all  evil  deeds. 

A  bad  act  only  smooths  out  the  path  for  another  bad 
act ;  while  bad  thoughts  irrepressibly  drag  one  down  that 
path. 

Having  recalled  in  his  imagination  all  the  thoughts  of 
the  previous  evening,  Nekhlyudov  marvelled  how  it  was 
he  could  have  had  any  faith  in  them  even  for  a  moment. 
However  new  and  difficult  all  that  was  which  he  in- 
tended to  do,  he  knew  that  it  was  the  only  possible  life 
for  him,  and  that,  however  easy  and  natural  it  was  for 
him  to  return  to  his  former  life,  it  would  be  his  death. 
The  temptation  of  the  previous  day  now  appeared  to  him 
analogous  to  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  has  had  a  good 
sleep  and  still  wishes,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  stay  awhile  in 
his  bed,  although  he  knows  full  well  that  it  is  time  to 

424 


RESURRECTION  425 

f 

get  up  in  order  to  attend  to  an  important  and  joyful 
matter. 

On  that  day,  the  last  of  his  sojourn  in  St.  Petersburg, 
he  went  early  in  the  morning  to  the  Shustovs,  in  the 
Vasilev  Island. 

The  lodgings  of  the  Shustovs  were  in  the  second  story. 
Nekhlyudov,  following  the  janitor's  indication,  got  to  the 
back  stairs,  and  mounted  a  straight,  steep  staircase,  and 
walked  straight  into  a  hot,  close  kitchen,  smelling  of  the 
cooking. 

An  elderly  woman  with  roUed-up  sleeves,  in  an  apron, 
and  in  glasses,  was  standing  at  the  stove  and  mixing 
something  in  a  steaming  pan. 

"Whom  do  you  wish?"  she  asked,  sternly,  looking 
above  her  glasses  at  the  stranger. 

Nekhlyudov  had  barely  mentioned  his  name,  when  the 
woman's  face  assumed  a  frightened  and,  at  the  same  time, 
joyful  expression. 

"  0  prince ! "  cried  the  woman,  drying  her  hands  on 
her  apron. 

"  But  why  did  you  come  by  the  back  staircase  ?  You 
are  our  benefactor.  I  am  her  mother.  They  had  entirely 
ruined  the  girl.  You  are  our  saviour,"  she  said,  grasping 
Nekhlyiidov's  hand  and  wishing  to  kiss  it. 

"  I  was  at  your  house  yesterday.  My  sister  in  partic- 
ular asked  me  to  go.  She  is  here.  This  way,  this  way, 
please  follow  me,"  said  Mother  Shvistov,  leading  Nekhlyu- 
dov through  a  narrow  door  and  a  dark  corridor,  and  on 
her  way  adjusting  her  tucked-up  dress  and  her  hair. 
"My  sister  is  Kornilov,  you  have  no  doubt  heard  her 
name,"  she  added,  in  a  whisper,  stopping  before  the  door. 
"  She  has  been  mixed  up  in  political  affairs.  She  is  a 
very  clever  woman." 

Having  opened  a  door  in  the  corridor,  Mrs.  Shilstov  led 
Nekhlyudov  into  a  small  room,  where,  in  front  of  a  table, 
on  a  small  sofa,  sat  a  short,  plump  girl,  in  a  striped  chintz 


426  RESURRECTION 

bodice,  with  waving  blond  hair,  which  encased  her  round 
and  very  pale  face  that  resembled  her  mother's.  Opposite 
to  her  sat  the  bent  form  of  a  young  man  with  black 
moustache  and  beard,  wearing  the  national  shirt  with 
the  embroidered  collar.  They  were  evidently  both  so 
absorbed  in  their  conversation  that  they  turned  around 
only  after  Nekhlyiidov  had  entered  through  the  door. 

"  Lida,  Prince  Nekhiyudov,  the  same  —  " 

The  pale  girl  sprang  up  nervously,  putting  back  a  lock 
of  hair  whicli  had  strayed  from  behind  her  ear,  and 
timidly  fixed  her  large  gray  eyes  on  the  stranger. 

"  So  you  are  that  dangerous  woman  for  whom  Vy^ra 
Efr^movna  has  interceded,"  said  Nekhiyudov,  smiling,  and 
extending  his  hand  to  her. 

"  Yes,  I  am  that  woman,"  said  Lidiya,  and,  opening 
wide  her  mouth,  and  thus  displaying  a  row  of  beautiful 
white  teeth,  she  smiled  a  kindly,  childish  smile.  "  It 
is  aunty  who  was  so  anxious  to  see  you.  Aunty ! " 
she  called  out  through  the  door,  in  a  sweet,  tender 
voice. 

"  Vy^ra  Efr^movna  was  very  much  aggrieved  at  your 
arrest,"  said  Nekhiyudov. 

"  Sit  down  here,  or  better  still,  here,"  said  Lidiya,  point- 
ing to  a  soft  broken  chair,  from  which  the  young  man 
had  just  arisen. 

"  My  cousin,  Zakharov,"  she  said,  noticing  the  glance 
wliich  Nekhiyudov  cast  upon  the  young  man. 

The  young  man,  smiling  as  kindly  a  smile  as  Lidiya, 
greeted  the  guest,  and,  when  Nekhiyudov  sat  down  in 
his  seat,  took  a  chair  from  the  window  and  sat  down  near 
him.  From  another  door  came  a  blond  gymnasiast,  about 
sixteen  years  of  age,  and  silently  sat  down  on  the  window- 
sill. 

"  Vy^ra  Efri^movna  is  a  great  friend  of  aunty's,  but  I 
hardly  know  her,"  said  Lidiya. 

Just  then  a  woman  with  a  very  sweet,  intelligent  face. 


RESURRECTION  427 

in  a  white  waist,  girded  by  a  leather  belt,  came  out  from 
the  adjoining  room. 

"  Good  morning.  Thank  you  for  having  come,"  she 
began,  the  moment  she  had  seated  herself  on  the  sofa 
near  Lidiya. 

"  Well,  how  is  Vy^ra  ?  Have  you  seen  her  ?  How 
does  she  bear  her  situation  ? " 

"She  does  not  complain,"  said  Nekhlyudov.  "She 
says  that  she  is  in  Olympian  transport." 

"  Ah,  Vy6'a,  I  recognize  her,"  said  the  aunt,  smiling, 
and  shaking  her  head.  "  One  must  know  her.  She  is  a 
splendid  personality.  Everything  for  others,  nothing  for 
herself." 

"  That  is  so.  She  did  not  wish  anything  for  herself, 
but  was  concerned  only  about  your  niece.  She  was  tor- 
mented more  especially  because  she  had  been  arrested 
without  cause." 

"That  is  so,"  said  the  aunt,  "it  is  a  terrible  affair! 
She  has  really  suffered  in  my  stead." 

"  Not  at  all,  aunty,"  said  Lidiya.  "  I  should  have 
taken  the  papers  even  without  you." 

"Permit  me  to  know  better,"  continued  the  aunt. 
"You  see,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Nekhlyiidov, 
"everytliing  began  from  a  certain  person's  request  that 
I  should  keep  his  papers  for  awhile.  As  I  had  no  sepa- 
rate quarters,  I  took  them  to  her.  They  made  a  raid  on 
her  that  night,  and  took  both  the  papers  and  her.  They 
kept  her  all  this  time,  and  wanted  her  to  tell  from  whom 
she  had  received  them." 

"But  I  did  not  tell,"  Lidiya  said  rapidly,  nervously 
twirling  a  lock  of  hair  which  was  not  at  all  in  her  way. 

"  I  do  not  say  you  did,"  her  aunt  retorted. 

"  If  they  did  take  Mitiu,  it  was  not  through  my  fault," 
said  Lidiya,  blushing,  and  restlessly  looking  about  her. 

"Do  not  even  speak  about  it,  Lidochka,"  said  her 
mother. 


428  KESUKRECTION 

"  Let  me  tell  about  it,"  said  Lidiya,  no  longer  smiling, 
but  blushing,  and  no  longer  adjusting  her  lock,  but  curl- 
ing it  about  her  finger,  and  looking  all  the  time  about 
her. 

"  You  know  what  happened  yesterday  when  you  began 
to  talk  of  it." 

"Not  at  all  —  let  me  alone,  mamma.  I  did  not  say 
anything,  but  only  kept  silent.  When  he  questioned  me 
twice  about  aunty  and  about  Mitin,  I  said  nothing,  and 
informed  him  that  I  should  not  answer  his  questions. 
Then  that  —  Petrov  —  " 

"  Petrov  is  a  spy,  a  gendarme,  and  a  great  scoundrel," 
interposed  the  aunt,  explaining  her  niece's  words  to 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  Then  he,"  continued  Lidiya,  in  an  agitated  and  hurried 
manner,  "  began  to  persuade  me.  '  All  you  will  tell  me,' 
he  said,  '  will  hurt  nobody ;  on  the  contrary,  by  telling 
the  truth,  you  will  only  free  some  innocent  people  whom 
we  are  tormenting  for  nothing.'  I  still  insisted  that  I 
would  not  tell.  Then  he  said  :  '  Very  well,  say  nothing, 
only  do  not  deny  what  I  am  going  to  say,'  And  he 
mentioned  Mitin." 

"  Don't  talk,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  0  aunt,  don't  interrupt  me  —  "  and  she  kept  pulling 
her  lock,  and  looking  all  around  her,  "  and  suddenly, 
imagine,  on  the  following  day  I  was  informed  by  knocks 
at  the  wall  that  Mitin  had  been  arrested.  Well,  thought 
I,  I  have  betrayed  him.  And  that  began  to  torment  me 
so  that  I  almost  went  insane." 

"  And  then  it  turned  out  that  it  was  not  at  all  through 

o 

you  that  he  was  arrested,"  said  the  aunt. 

"  But  I  did  not  know  it.  I  thought  I  had  betrayed 
him.  I  kept  walking  from  wall  to  wall,  and  I  could  not 
keep  from  thinking.  I  thought  I  had  betrayed  him.  I 
lay  down,  covered  myself,  and  I  heard  somebody  whisper- 
ing into  my  ear,  '  You  have  betrayed,  you  have  betrayed 


RESURRECTION  429 

Mitin,  you  have  betrayed  him.'  I  knew  it  was  a  hallu- 
cination, but  T  could  not  keep  from  listening.  I  wanted 
to  fall  asleep,  and  I  could  not.  I  wanted  to  keep  from 
thinking,  and  I  could  not.  It  was  so  terrible ! "  said 
Lidiya,  becoming  more  and  more  agitated,  winding  her 
lock  around  her  finger,  again  unwinding  it,  and  looking 
all  around  her. 

"  Lidoclika,  calm  yourself,"  repeated  her  mother,  putting 
her  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

But  Lidiya  could  no  longer  stop.  "  It  is  terrible 
because  — "  she  began  to  say,  but  she  burst  into  sobs, 
without  finishing  her  words,  jumped  up  from  the  sofa, 
and,  catching  her  dress  in  a  chair,  ran  out  of  the  room. 
Her  mother  went  out  after  her. 

"  These  scoundrels  ought  to  be  hanged,"  said  the  gym- 
nasiast,  who  was  sitting  on  the  window. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  ?  "  asked  his  aunt. 

"  Oh,  nothing  —  I  was  just  talking,"  replied  the 
gymnasiast,  picking  up  a  cigarette,  which  was  lying  on 
the  table,  and  lighting  it. 


XXVI. 

"Yes,  for  young  people  this  solitary  confinement  is 
terrible,"  said  the  aunt,  shaking  her  head,  and  also  light- 
ing a  cigarette. 

"  I  think,  for  everybody,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  No,  not  for  all,"  replied  the  aunt.  "  For  real  revolu- 
tionists, so  I  was  told,  it  is  a  rest,  a  relief.  These  illegal 
people  Uve  in  "eternal  turmoil  and  material  want  and  fear 
for  themselves,  for  others,  and  for  the  cause ;  and  when, 
at  last,  they  are  arrested,  all  is  ended,  and  they  are  re- 
lieved of  all  responsibility :  all  they  have  to  do  is  to  sit 
and  rest  themselves.  I  have  been  told  that  they  really 
experience  joy  when  they  are  arrested.  But  for  young 
innocent  people,  —  they  always  take  innocent  people,  like 
Lidochka,  first,  —  for  these  the  first  shock  is  terrible. 
Not  because  you  are  deprived  of  liberty,  because  they 
treat  you  rudely,  feed  you  badly,  and  because  the  air  is 
■bad,  —  in  general,  all  the  privations  are  notliing.  If  even 
there  were  three  times  as  many  privations,  they  could 
all  be  borne  easily,  if  it  were  not  for  that  moral  shock 
which  one  experiences  when  arrested  for  the  first  time." 

"  Have  you  experienced  it  ? " 

"11  I  have  been  confined  twice,"  said  the  aunt,  smil- 
ing a  sad,  pleasant  smile.  "When  I  was  arrested  the 
first  time  —  and  it  was  for  no  cause  whatsoever,"  con- 
tinued she  —  "I  was  twenty-two  years  old.  I  had  a  baby, 
and  I  was  with  child.  However  hard  my  loss  of  liberty 
was,  and  my  separation  from  my  child  and  my  husband, 
all  that  was  nothing  in  comparison  with  what  I  felt  when 
I  saw  that  I  ceased  to  be  man,  and  became  a  thing.     I 

430 


RESURRECTION  431 

wanted  to  bid  my  child  good-bye,  and  I  was  told  to  hurry 
to  take  my  seat  in  a  cab.  I  asked  them  whither  they 
were  taking  me,  and  I  was  told  I  should  find  out  when 
I  got  there.  I  asked  them  what  it  was  I  was  accused  of, 
and  I  received  no  reply.  When  I  was  undressed  after  the 
inquest  and  a  prison  garb  was  put  on  me,  I  was  given 
a  number  and  taken  to  a  vaulted  room,  and  a  door  was 
opened,  and  I  was  pushed  in,  and  the  door  was  locked 
after  me,  and  they  went  away,  and  only  a  sentry  was  left, 
who  with  his  gun  walked  silently  up  and  down,  and  now 
and  then  peeped  through  the  crack  in  my  door,  —  a 
terribly  heavy  sensation  overcame  me.  I  was  particularly 
struck  at  the  inquest  by  the  fact  that  the  officer  of  the 
gendarmes  offered  me  a  cigarette.  Evidently  he  knew 
that  people  like  to  smoke;  he  consequently  knew  that 
people  like  liberty  and  light ;  he  knew  that  mothers  loved 
their  children,  and  children  their  mothers ;  how,  then, 
could  they  have  pitilessly  torn  me  away  from  everything 
which  was  dear  to  me,  and  have  me  locked  up  like  a  wild 
beast  ?  One  cannot  bear  this  without  results.  If  one 
has  beheved  in  God  and  men,  and  that  people  love  each 
othei.  he  will  after  that  cease  believing.  I  have  quit  be- 
lieving in  men  ever  since  that  time,  and  have  become 
furious,"  she  concluded,  and  smiled. 

The  mother  entered  through  the  door,  through  which 
Lidiya  had  left,  and  announced  that  Lidiya  would  not 
come  in,  as  she  was  all  unnerved. 

"  Why  should  they  ruin  a  young  hfe  ?  It  pains  me 
more  especially,"  said  the  aunt,  "  since  I  am  the  involun- 
tary cause  of  it." 

"  With  God's  aid  she  will  improve  in  the  country,"  said 
the  mother.     "  We  shall  send  her  out  to  father." 

"  Yes,  if  it  had  not  been  for  you,  she  would  have  been  en- 
tirely ruined,"  said  the  aunt.  "  Thank  you.  But  I  wanted 
to  see  you  to  ask  you  to  give  a  letter  to  Vy^ra  Efr^movna," 
she  said,  drawing  a  letter  out  of  her  pocket.     "  The  letter 


432  KESUKRECTION 

is  uot  sealed.  You  may  read  it  and  tear  it  up,  or  trans- 
mit it  to  her,  whichever  you  will  find  more  in  conformity 
with  your  convictions,"  she  said.  "  There  is  nothing  of  a 
compromising  character  in  the  letter." 

Nekhlyudov  took  the  letter,  and,  promising  to  transmit 
it  to  her,  rose,  and,  bidding  them  good-bye,  went  out  into 
the  street. 

He  sealed  the  letter  without  reading  it,  and  decided  to 
transmit  it  to  its  destination. 


XXVII. 

The  last  affair  which  kept  Nekhlyildov  at  St.  Petersburg 
was  the  case  of  the  sectarians,  whose  petition  he  intended 
to  hand  in  to  the  Tsar  through  his  former  comrade  in  the 
army,  Aid-de-camp  Bogatyrev.  He  went  to  see  him  in 
the  morning,  and  found  him  at  home  at  breakfast,  though 
on  the  point  of  leaving.  Bogatyrdv  was  short  and  stocky, 
endowed  with  unusual  physical  strength,  —  he  could  bend 
horseshoes,  —  a  kindly,  honest,  straightforward,  and  even 
liberal  man.  In  spite  of  these  qualities,  he  was  an 
intimate  at  court,  and  loved  the  Tsar  and  his  family, 
and,  in  some  admirable  manner,  knew,  while  living  in 
that  highest  circle,  how  to  see  only  its  good  side,  and  not 
to  take  part  in  anything  bad  and  dishonest.  He  never 
condemned  men,  nor  measures,  but  either  kept  silent,  or 
spoke  in  a  bold,  loud  voice,  as  though  shouting,  whatever 
he  had  to  say,  frequently  bursting  into  just  as  loud 
laughter.  He  did  this,  not  for  diplomatic  reasons,  but 
because  such  was  his  character. 

"  Now  this  is  charming  that  you  have  come.  Do  you 
not  want  to  breakfast  with  me?  Sit  down.  Superb 
beefsteak !  I  always  begin  and  end  with  substantial 
things.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Come,  have  a  glass  of  wine.  I 
have  been  thinking  of  you.  I  shall  hand  in  the  petition. 
I  shall  put  it  into  his  hands ;  only  it  has  occurred  to  me 
that  it  would  be  better  for  you  first  to  see  Toporov." 

Nekhlyildov  frowned  at  the  mention  of  Toporov. 

"  All  this  depends  upon  him.  They  will  ask  his  opinion 
in  any  case.     And  maybe  he  himself  wnll  satisfy  you." 

"  If  you  so  advise,  I  shall  go  to  see  him." 

433 


434  RESURRECTION 

"Very  well.  Well,  how  does  St.  Petersburg  affect 
you  ? "  shouted  Bogatyr^v.     "  Tell  me,  eh  ? " 

"I  feel  that  I  am  becoming  hypnotized,"  said  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  You  are  becoming  hypnotized  ? "  repeated  Bogatyr^v, 
laughing  out  loud.  "  If  you  don't  want  to,  all  right." 
He  wiped  his  mouth  with  a  napkin.  "  So  you  will  go  to 
see  him  ?  Ah  ?  If  he  will  not  do  it  for  you,  let  me  have 
it,  and  I  shall  hand  it  in  to-morrow,"  he  exclaimed,  rising 
from  the  table,  and,  crossing  himself  with  a  broad  sign  of 
the  cross,  apparently  as  unconsciously  as  he  had  wiped 
his  mouth,  he  began  to  gird  on  his  sword.  "  Now  good- 
bye, I  must  be  off." 

"  We  shall  go  out  together,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  delighted 
to  press  Bogatyr^v's  strong,  broad  hand,  and  parting  from 
him  at  the  steps  of  his  house,  with  the  pleasant  feeling  of 
something  healthy,  unconscious,  fresh. 

Although  he  did  not  expect  anything  good  to  come 
from  his  visit,  he  took  Bogatyr^v's  advice  and  went  to  see 
Toporov,  the  person  on  whom  the  case  of  the  sectarians 
depended. 

The  post  which  Toporov  occupied,  by  its  very  constitu- 
tion, formed  an  internal  contradiction,  to  which  only  a 
man  who  was  dull  and  deprived  of  all  moral  sense  could 
be  blind.  Toporov  was  possessed  of  both  these  negative 
qualities.  The  contradiction  contained  in  the  post  held 
by  him  consisted  in  the  fact  that  its  purpose  was  to 
maintain  and  defend  by  external  means,  not  excluding 
violence,  that  church  which,  by  its  definition,  had  been 
established  by  God  Himself  and  could  not  be  shaken  either 
by  the  fiends  of  hell  or  by  any  human  efforts.  It  was  this 
divine  and  imperturbable  godly  institution  that  the  human 
institution,  over  which  Toporov  and  his  officials  presided, 
had  to  support  and  defend. 

Toporov  did  not  see  this  contradiction,  or  did  not  wish 
to  see  it,  and  therefore  he  was  seriously  concerned  lest 


KESUliKECTION  435 

some  Eoman  Catholic  priest,  or  Protestant  preacher,  or 
sectarian  destroy  the  Church  which  the  gates  of  hell 
could  not  vanquish.  Topoi'ov,  like  all  people  deprived  of 
the  fundamental  religious  sense,  and  of  the  consciousness 
of  the  equality  and  brotherhood  of  men,  was  firmly  con- 
vinced that  the  people  consisted  of  creatures  who  were 
quite  different  from  himself,  and  that  the  people  were  in 
dire  need  of  that  without  which  he  himself  could  very 
well  get  along.  In  the  depth  of  his  soul,  he  believed  in 
nothing,  and  he  found  such  a  condition  very  convenient 
and  agreeable ;  but  he  was  in  fear  lest  the  people  come  to 
the  same  state,  and  so  he  considered  it  his  sacred  duty,  as 
he  said,  to  save  the  people  from  it. 

Just  as  it  says  in  a  certain  cook-book  that  lobsters  like 
to  be  boiled  alive,  so.  he  was  firmly  convinced,  by  no  means 
in  a  metaphorical  sense,  as  it  is  to  be  taken  in  the  cook- 
book, but  in  the  direct  sense,  —  and  so  he  expressed  him- 
self, —  that  the  people  like  to  be  superstitious. 

He  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  the  religion  which  he 
was  supporting  that  the  poultry-keeper  occupies  in  regard 
to  carrion  with  which  he  feeds  his  chickens :  the  carrion 
is  a  very  disagreeable  business,  but  the  chickens  like  to 
eat  it,  and  so  they  must  be  fed  on  it. 

Of  course,  all  these  miracle-working  images  of  Iver, 
Kazan,  and  Smolensk  are  a  very  rude  idolatry,  but  the 
people  believe  in  it  and  like  it,  and  so  these  superstitions 
must  be  maintained.  Thus  thought  Toporov,  forgetting 
to  reflect  that  the  reason  he  thought  the  people  liked  the 
superstitions  was  because  there  have  always  been  such 
cruel  men  as  he,  Toporov,  was,  who,  having  themselves 
become  enlightened,  used  their  light  not  for  that  for  which 
they  ought  to  use  it,  —  to  succour  the  people  emerging 
from  the  darkness  of  ignorance,  —  but  only  to  confirm 
them  still  more  in  it. 

As  Nekhlyudov  entered  the  waiting-room,  Toporov  was 
conversing  in  his  cabinet  with  an  abbess,  a  lively  aristo- 


436  RESURRECTION 

crat,  who  was  spreading  and  supporting  Orthodoxy  in  the 
western  country  amidst  the  Uniates,  who  had  been  by 
force  driven  into  the  folds  of  the  Orthodox  Church. 

An  official  on  special  missions,  who  was  in  the  waiting- 
room,  asked  Nekhlyildov  about  his  business,  and,  having 
discovered  that  Nekhlyiidov  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
hand  in  the  petition  of  the  sectarians  to  the  emperor, 
asked  him  whether  he  could  not  let  him  have  the  petition 
to  read  it  over.  Nekhlyildov  gave  it  to  him,  and  the  official 
went  with  it  into  the  cabinet.  The  abbess,  in  cowl,  wavy 
veil,  and  trailing  black  skirt,  having  folded  her  white 
hands  with  their  clean  nails,  in  which  she  held  a  topaz 
rosary,  came  out  of  the  cabinet,  and  directed  her  steps  to 
the  entrance.  Nekhlyildov  was  not  asked  in  yet.  Toporov 
was  reading  the  petition  and  shaking  his  head.  He  was 
unpleasantly  surprised,  as  he  read  the  clearly  and  strongly 
formulated  petition. 

"  If  it  gets  into  the  hands  of  the  emperor,  it  might  give 
rise  to  unpleasant  questions  and  misunderstandings," 
he  thought,  as  he  finished  the  petition.  The  trouble  was 
that  the  Christians  who  had  departed  from  Orthodoxy 
had  been  reprimanded  and  then  tried  before  a  court  of 
justice,  but  the  court  had  acquitted  them.  Then  the 
bishop  and  the  governor  decided,  on  account  of  the  ille- 
gality of  their  marriages,  to  deport  the  men,  women,  and 
children  to  different  places.  What  these  fathers  and 
wives  asked  was  that  they  should  not  be  separated. 
Toporov  thought  of  the  first  time  the  case  had  come  to 
his  notice.  He  had  then  wavered  whether  he  had  better 
not  quash  the  case.  But  there  could  be  no  harm  in  con- 
firming the  decree  of  scattering  the  various  members  of 
the  peasant  families ;  their  sojourn  in  the  same  places 
might  have  bad  consequences  on  the  rest  of  the  population 
in  the  sense  of  their  defection  from  Orthodoxy ;  besides, 
it  showed  the  zeal  of  the  bishop,  and  so  he  let  the  case 
take  the  course  which  had  been  given  to  it. 


KESUIiRECTION  437 

But  now,  with  such  a  defender  as  Nekhlyiidov,  who 
had  connectious  in  St.  Petersburg,  the  affair  might  be 
brought  to  the  emT^eror's  particular  attention,  as  something 
cruel,  or  it  might  get  into  the  foreign  newspapers,  and  so 
he  at  once  took  an  extraordinary  stand. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said,  with  the  look  of  a  very  busy 
man,  meeting  Nekhlyudov  while  standing,  and  immedi- 
ately passing  over  to  the  affair. 

"  I  know  this  affair.  The  moment  I  looked  at  the 
names,  I  recalled  that  unfortunate  matter,"  he  said,  taking 
the  petition  into  his  hands,  and  showing  it  to  Nekhlyudov. 
"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  reminding  me  of  it.  The 
governmental  authorities  have  been  a  little  too  zealous  —  " 

Nekhlyudov  was  silent,  looking  with  an  evil  feeling  at 
the  motionless  mask  of  the  pale  face. 

"  I  will  order  this  measure  to  be  withdrawn,  and  these 
people  to  be  restored  to  their  places  of  abode." 

"  So  I  do  not  need  to  attend  any  further  to  the  pe- 
tition ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"Certainly  not.  /  promise  you  this,"  he  said,  with 
especial  emphasis  on  the  word  "  I,"  being  evidently 
quite  convinced  that  his  honesty,  his  word,  were  the 
best  guarantee.  "  I  shall  write  at  once.  Please  be 
seated." 

He  went  up  to  the  table  and  began  to  write.  Nekh- 
lyudov did  not  sit  down,  but  looked  down  upon  that  nar- 
row, bald  skull,  and  upon  his  hand  with  its  large  blue 
veins,  which  was  rapidly  moving  the  pen,  and  wondered 
why  he  was  doing  it,  and  why  a  man,  who  seemed  to  be 
so  indifferent  to  everything,  did  this  thing  with  so  much 
apparent  anxiety.     Why  ■ —  ? 

"  So  here  it  is,"  said  Topordv,  sealing  the  envelope.  "  You 
may  inform  your  clients  of  it,"  he  added,  compressing  his 
lips  into  a  semblance  of  a  smile. 

"  For  what,  then,  have  those  people  been  suffering  ? " 
Nekhlyudov  said,  accepting  the  envelope. 


438  RESURRECTION 

Topordv  raised  his  head  and  smiled,  as  though  Nekh- 
lyiidov's  question  afforded  him  pleasure. 

"  That  I  am  unable  to  tell  you.  I  can  only  tell  you 
that  the  interests  of  the  people,  over  which  we  watch,  are 
so  important  that  superfluous  zeal  in  matters  of  faith 
are  not  so  terrible  and  dangerous  as  the  superfluous 
indifference  to  them,  which  is  now  spreading." 

"  But  how,  in  the  name  of  religion,  are  the  first 
demands  of  goodness  violated,  and  families  broken 
up?" 

Toporov  was  still  smiling  in  the  same  condescending 
way,  as  though  finding  Nekhlyiidov's  remarks  very 
charming.  Whatever  Nekhlyudov  might  have  said, 
Toporov  would  have  found  charming  and  one-sided  from 
the  height  of  that  broad  consideration  of  state,  on  which, 
he  thought,  he  stood. 

"  From  the  standpoint  of  a  private  individual  that  may 
seem  so,"  he  said,  "  but  from  the  point  of  view  of  state  it 
appears  somewhat  differently.  My  regards  to  you,"  said 
Toporov,  bending  his  head  and  extending  his  hand. 

Nekhlyudov  pressed  it,  and  silently  and  hurriedly  went 
away,  regrettiug  the  fact  that  he  had  pressed  his  hand. 

"  The  interests  of  the  people,"  he  repeated  Toporov's 
words.  "  Your  interests,  only  yours,"  he  thought,  upon 
leaving  Toporov. 

He  mentally  ran  through  the  list  of  persons  against 
whom  was  exercised  the  activity  of  the  institutions  that 
reestablish  justice,  support  faith,  and  educate  the  people, — 
the  woman  who  was  punished  for  the  illegal  sale  of 
liquor,  and  the  young  fellow  for  stealing,  and  the  vagrant 
for  tramping,  and  the  incendiary  for  arson,  and  the 
banker  for  robbery,  and  also  unfortunate  Lidiya,  simply 
because  it  might  have  been  possible  to  obtain  the  neces- 
sary information  from  her,  and  the  sectarians  for  violating 
Orthodoxy,  and  Gur(^vich  for  wishing  a  constitution,  — 
and  Nekhlyudov  was  suddenly  struck  with  unusual  force 


KESURRECTION  439 

by  the  thought  that  all  these  people  had  been  arrested, 
confined,  and  deported,  not  because  they  had  all  violated 
justice,  or  committed  lawlessness,  but  only  because  they 
interfered  with  the  officials  and  rich  people  in  their 
possession  of  the  wealth  which  they  were  amassing  from 
the  people. 

They  were  interfered  with  equally  by  the  woman 
who  was  trafficking  without  a  license,  and  by  the  thief  who 
was  tramping  through  the  city,  and  by  Lidiya  with  her 
proclamations,  and  by  the  sectarians  who  were  breaking 
down  superstition,  and  by  Gurevich  with  his  constitution. 
And  therefore  it  seemed  quite  clear  to  Nekhlyiidov  that 
all  these  officials  —  beginning  with  his  aunt's  husband, 
the  Senators,  and  Topordv,  and  coming  down  to  all  those 
petty,  clean,  and  correct  gentlemen,  who  were  sitting  at 
the  tables  in  the  various  ministries  —  were  not  in  the 
least  concerned  about  the  suffering  of  the  innocent  people 
under  such  an  order  of  things,  but  about  the  removal  of 
all  the  dangerous  elements. 

So  that  not  only  was  the  rule  neglected  which  enjoins 
that  ten  guilty  men  be  pardoned  lest  one  innocent  man 
suffer,  but,  on  the  contrary,  just  as  it  is  necessary  to  cut 
out  the  healthy  part  together  with  the  decay,  in  order  to 
remove  the  latter,  so  they  removed  ten  innocent  people 
by  means  of  punishments,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  one  guilty 
person. 

Such  an  explanation  of  all  that  was  taking  place  seemed 
so  very  simple  and  clear  to  Nekhlyiidov,  but  it  was  this 
same  simplicity  and  clearness  which  made  him  hesitate 
in  accepting  it.  It  seemed  hardly  possible  that  such  a 
complicated  phenomenon  should  have  such  a  simple  and 
terrible  explanation ;  it  could  not  be  that  all  these  words 
about  justice,  goodness,  laws,  faith,  God,  and  so  on,  should 
be  nothing  but  words,  and  should  shroud  the  coarsest 
selfishness  and  cruelty. 


XXVIIT. 

Nekhlyudov  would  have  left  that  very  evening,  but 
he  had  promised  Mariette  to  come  to  see  her  in  the 
theatre,  and,  although  he  knew  that  he  ought  not  to  do 
it,  he  nevertheless  compromised  with  his  soul  and  went, 
considering  himself  bound  by  his  word. 

"  Can  I  withstand  this  temptation  ? "  he  thought,  not 
quite  sincerely.     "  I  shall  see  for  the  last  time." 

Having  put  on  his  dress  coat,  he  arrived  during  the 
second  act  of  the  eternal  "  Dame  aux  Camillas,"  in  which 
the  visiting  actress  showed  in  a  new  fashion  how  con- 
sumptive women  die. 

The  theatre  was  filled.  Mariette's  box  was  at  once 
pointed  out  to  Nekhlyudov,  with  due  respect  to  the 
person  who  was  asking  for  it. 

In  the  corridor  stood  a  liveried  lackey.  He  bowed 
as  to  an  acquaintance  and  opened  the  door. 

All  the  rows  of  the  boxes  opposite,  vdth  the  figures 
sitting  there  and  standing  behind  them,  and  the  near-by 
backs  and  the  gray,  half-gray,  bald,  and  pomaded,  fixed-up 
heads  of  those  who  were  sitting  in  the  orchestra  circle,  — 
all  the  spectators  centred  their  attention  on  the  lean, 
bony  actress  who,  dressed  up  in  silk  and  laces,  was  con- 
torting herself  and  declaiming  a  monologue  in  an  un- 
natural voice.  Somebody  was  hissing  as  the  door  was 
being  opened,  and  two  streams  of  warm  and  cold  air 
passed  over  Nekhlyudov's  face. 

In  the  box  were  Mariette  and  a  strange  lady  in  a  red 
wrap  and  a  large,  massive  coiffure,  and  two  men  :  a  general, 
Mariette's  husband,  a  handsome,  tall  man,  with  a  severe, 

440 


o 


;'iki4'W*'*"*'T.--^'"'j 


RESURRECTION  441 

impenetrable,  hook-nosed  face  and  a  broad,  military  chest, 
padded  with  cotton  and  starched  linen,  and  a  hght-com- 
plexioned,  bald  man,  with  a  clean-shaven,  dimpled  chin 
between  majestic  side-whiskers.  Mariette,  graceful,  slen- 
der, elegant,  d^coUet^,  with  her  strong  muscular  shoulders, 
slanting  from  the  neck,- at  the  juncture  of  which  with  the 
shoulders  there  was  a  black  birthmark,  immediately  turned 
around,  and,  indicating  a  seat  behind  her  to  Nekhlyudov 
with  her  fan,  smiled  to  him  approvingly,  gratefully,  and, 
as  he  thought,  significantly.  Her  husband  calmly  looked 
at  Nekhlyudov,  as  he  always  did,  and  bent  his  head.  One 
could  see  in  him,  in  the  glance  which  he  exchanged  with 
his  wife,  the  master,  the  owner  of  his  beautiful  wife. 

"When  the  monologue  was  finished,  the  theatre  shook 
with  applause. 

Mariette  arose  and,  holding  her  rustling  silk  skirt, 
went  to  the  back  of  the  box  and  introduced  her  husband 
to  Nekhlyudov. 

The  general  kept  smiling  with  his  eyes,  and,  saying 
that  he  was  very  glad,  grew  impenetrably  silent. 

"  I  must  leave  to-day,  but  I  promised  you,"  said  Nekh- 
lyvidov,  turning  to  Mariette. 

"  If  you  do  not  wish  to  see  me,  you  will  see  a  remark- 
able actress,"  said  Mariette,  replying  to  the  meaning  of 
his  words.  "  Was  she  not  fine  in  the  last  scene  ? "  she 
addressed  her  husband. 

Her  husband  bent  his  head. 

"  This  does  not  affect  me,"  said  Nekhlyudov.  "  I  have 
seen  so  many  real  miseries  to-day  that  —  " 

"  Sit  down  and  tell  me  about  them." 

Her  husband  listened,  and  ironically  smiled  ever  more 
with  his  eyes. 

"  I  called  on  the  woman  who  has  been  released,  and 
who  has  been  confined  so  long :  she  is  a  crushed  being." 

"  This  is  the  woman  of  whom  I  told  you,"  Mariette  said 
to  her  husband. 


442  RESURRECTION 

"  I  was  very  glad  that  it  was  possible  to  release  her," 
he  said,  calmly,  shaking  his  head  and  smiling  quite  ironic- 
ally under  his  moustache,  as  Nekhlyiidov  thought.  "  I 
shall  go  out  to  have  a  smoke." 

Nekhlyiidov  sat  in  expectation  that  Mariette  would 
tell  him  that  important  thing  of  which  she  had  spoken, 
but  she  said  nothing  and  did  not  even  try  to  say  any- 
thing, but  only  jested  and  talked  about  the  play  which, 
so  she  thought,  ought  to  interest  him  very  much. 

Nekhlyudov  saw  that  she  had  nothing  to  tell  him,  but 
that  she  only  wished  to  appear  before  him  in  all  the 
splendour  of  her  evening  toilet,  with  her  shoulders  and 
birthmark,  and  he  felt  both  pleased  and  annoyed. 

All  that  covering  of  charm,  wliich  lay  over  everything 
before,  was  now,  as  far  as  Nekhlyudov  was  concerned, 
taken  away,  and  he  also  saw  what  there  was  beneath  that 
covering.  He  admired  Mariette  as  he  looked  at  her,  but 
he  knew  that  she  was  a  liar,  who  was  living  with  a  man 
who  was  making  his  career  by  the  tears  and  lives  of 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  people,  while  all  this  was  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  her,  and  that  everything  she  had 
said  the  day  before  was  an  untruth,  and  that  she  wanted, 
he  did  not  know  why,  nor  did  she,  that  he  should  fall  in 
love  with  her.  He  was  both  attracted  and  repelled  by 
her.  He  made  several  attempts  to  leave,  and  picked  up 
his  hat,  and  again  remained. 

But  finally,  when  her  husband  returned  to  the  box, 
with  the  odour  of  tobacco  on  his  thick  moustache,  and 
cast  a  condescendingly  contemptuous  look  at  Nekhlyu- 
dov, as  though  not  recognizing  him,  Nekhlyudov  left  for 
the  corridor,  before  even  the  door  was  closed,  and,  having 
found  his  overcoat,  went  away  from  the  theatre. 

On  his  way  home  along  the  N^vski  Prospect,  he  in- 
voluntarily noticed  in  front  of  him  a  tall,  very  well  built, 
and  provokingly  dressed  woman,  who  was  slowly  walking 
over  the  asphalt  of   the   broad   sidewalk ;   both    in   her 


RESUERECTION  443 

face  and  in  her  whole  figure  could  be  seen  the  conscious- 
ness of  her  evil  power.  All  the  people  who  met  her  or 
came  abreast  with  her  surveyed  her  form.  Her  face,  no 
doubt  painted,  was  handsome,  and  the  woman  smiled  at 
Nekhlyiidov,  sparkling  her  eyes  at  him.  Strange  to  say, 
Nekhlyiidov  at  once  thought  of  Mariette,  because  he  ex- 
perienced the  same  sensation  of  attraction  and  repulsion 
which  he  had  experienced  in  the  theatre. 

Walking  hurriedly  past  her,  Nekhlyudov  turned  into 
the  Morskaya  Street,  and,  upon  reaching  the  shore,  began, 
to  the  surprise  of  the  pohceman,  to  stroll  up  and 
down. 

"  Just  so  she  smiled  at  me  in  the  theatre,  as  I  entered," 
he  thought,  "  and  the  same  meaning  was  in  that  smile  as 
in  this.  The  only  difference  is  that  this  one  says  simply 
and  directly,  *  If  you  need  me,  take  me  !  If  not,  pass  on.' 
While  the  other  pretends  not  to  be  thinking  of  it,  but  to 
live  by  some  higher,  refined  sentiments,  whereas  there  is 
no  difference  in  fact.  This  one,  at  least,  is  telling  the 
truth ;  the  other  one  lies. 

"  More  than  that :  this  one  is  driven  to  her  condition  by 
necessity ;  while  the  other  one  plays  and  dallies  with  that 
beautiful,  repulsive,  terrible  passion.  This  street-walker 
is  malodorous,  dirty  water  which  is  offered  to  those  whose 
thirst  is  greater  than  their  disgust ;  the  one  in  the  thea- 
tre is  poison  which  imperceptibly  poisons  that  into  which 
it  falls." 

Nekhlyvidov  thought  of  his  connection  with  the  mar- 
shal's wife,  and  disgraceful  memories  burst  upon  him. 
"  Disgusting  is  the  animality  of  the  beast  in  man,"  he 
thought,  "  but  when  that  beast  in  man  is  in  its  pure 
form,  you  survey  it  from  the  height  of  your  spiritual  life 
and  despise  it;  whether  you  have  fallen  or  not,  you 
remain  what  you  have  been ;  but  when  this  animal  is 
concealed  beneath  a  quasi-testhetic,  poetical  film  and 
demands  worship,  then  you  become  all  rapt  in   it,  and, 


444  EESURRECTION 

worshipping  the  animal,  no  longer  distinguish  right  from 
wrong.     Then  it  is  terrible." 

Nekhlyudov  saw  this  now  as  clearly  as  he  saw  the  pal- 
aces, the  sentries,  the  fortress,  the  river,  the  boats,  the 
Exchange.  And  as  there  was  no  soothing,  restful  dark- 
ness upon  earth  in  that  night,  but  an  indistinct,  cheerless, 
unnatural  hght  without  its  source,  even  thus  there  was 
no  longer  a  restful  darkness  of  ignorance  in  Nekhlyiidov's 
soul. 

Everything  was  clear.  It  was  clear  that  that  which  is 
considered  important  and  good  is  bad  and  detestable,  and 
that  all  that  luxury  and  splendour  conceal  old,  habitual 
crimes,  which  not  only  go  without  being  punished,  but 
are  triumphant  and  adorned  with  all  the  charm  which 
people  are  able  to  invent. 

Nekhlyudov  wanted  to  forget  this,  not  to  see  it,  but  he 
no  longer  could  keep  from  seeing  it.  Although  he  did 
not  see  the  source  of  the  light  which  revealed  all  this  to 
him,  and  although  this  light  appeared  to  him  indistinct, 
cheerless,  and  unnatural,  he  could  not  help  seeing  that 
which  was  revealed  to  him  in  this  light,  and  he  had  at 
the  same  time  a  joyous  and  a  perturbed  sensation. 


XXIX. 

Upon  arriving  at  Moscow,  Nekhlyiidov  first  of  all  drove 
to  the  prison  hospital  to  give  Maslova  the  sad  news  of 
the  Senate's  confirmation  of  the  verdict  of  the  court,  and  to 
tell  her  that  she  must  prepare  herself  for  the  journey 
to  Siberia.  He  had  little  hope  in  the  appeal  to  his  Maj- 
esty, which  the  lawyer  had  composed  for  him,  and  which 
he  now  took  to  the  prison  to  have  signed  by  Maslova. 
Strange  to  say,  he  did  not  desire  any  success  now.  He 
had  accustomed  himself  to  the  thought  of  journeying  to 
Siberia,  and  of  living  among  deported  and  hard  labour 
criminals,  and  he  found  it  hard  to  imagine  how  he  should 
arrange  his  life  and  that  of  Maslova,  if  she  were  ac- 
quitted. He  recalled  the  words  of  the  American  author, 
Thoreau,  who  had  said,  at  the  time  when  there  was  slavery 
in  America,  that  the  only  place  which  was  proper  for  an 
honest  man  in  a  country  where  slavery  is  legalized  and 
protected  was  the  jail.  Even  thus  Nekhlyiidov  thought, 
particularly  after  his  visit  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  after  all 
he  had  learned  there. 

"  Yes,  the  only  proper  place  for  an  honest  man  in 
Eussia  at  the  present  time  is  the  jail !  "  he  thought.  He 
had  this  direct  sensation,  as  he  now  approached  the 
prison  and  entered  within  its  walls. 

The  porter  in  the  hospital,  recognizing  Nekhlyiidov,  at 
once  informed  him  that  Maslova  no  longer  was  there. 

"  Where  is  she,  then  ?  " 

"  Again  in  the  prison." 

'*  Why  has  she  been  transferred  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

445 


446  HEStJRRECTION 

"  They  are  such  a  lot,  your  Serenity,"  said  the  porter, 
smiling  contemptuously.  "  She  started  an  intrigue  with 
the  assistant,  so  the  senior  doctor  sent  her  back." 

Nekhlyiidov  had  not  imagined  that  Maslova  and  her 
spiritual  condition  could  be  so  near  to  him.  The  news 
stunned  him.  He  experienced  a  sensation  akin  to  the 
feeling  which  overcomes  one  when  suddenly  informed  of 
some  great  misfortune.  He  felt  a  severe  pain.  The  first 
sensation  which  he  experienced  upon  heariug  the  news 
was  that  of  shame.  First  of  all,  he  appeared  ridiculous 
to  himself  with  his  joyful  expectation  of  her  changing 
spiritual  condition.  All  those  words  about  not  wishing 
to  receive  his  sacrifice,  and  the  reproaches,  and  tears,  — 
all  this,  he  thought,  was  only  the  cunning  of  a  corrupt 
woman  wishing  to  make  the  best  possible  use  of  him.  It 
now  seemed  to  him  that  at  his  last  visit  he  had  noticed 
the  symptoms  of  that  incorrigibility  which  had  now 
become  apparent.  All  that  flashed  through  his  mind  as 
he  instinctively  put  on  his  hat  and  left  the  hospital. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  now  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  Am 
I  bound  to  her  ?  Am  I  not  freed  by  this  very  deed  of 
hers  ? "  he  asked  himself. 

The  moment  he  put  this  question  to  himself,  he  imme- 
diately saw  that,  considering  himself  free  and  abandoning 
her,  he  would  not  be  punishing  her,  as  he  wished  to  do, 
but  himself,  and  he  felt  tenibly. 

"  No,  that  which  has  happened  cannot  change,  it  can 
only  confirm  me  in  my  determination.  Let  her  do  what 
results  from  her  spiritual  condition,  —  even  her  intrigues 
with  the  assistant  are  her  own  affair.  My  business  is  to 
do  that  which  my  conscience  demands  of  me,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "My  conscience  demands  the  sacrifice  of  my 
liberty  for  the  expiation  of  my  sin,  and  my  determination 
to  marry  her,  even  though  in  fictitious  marriage,  and  to 
follow  her  whither  she  may  be  sent,  remains  unchanged," 
he  said  to  himself,  with  evil  stubbornness.     Upon  leaving 


RESUKRECTION  447 

the  hospital,  he  went  with  determined  steps  toward  the 
large  gate  of  the  prison. 

At  the  gate  he  asked  the  officer  of  the  day  to  tell  the 
superintendent  that  he  wished  to  see  Maslova.  The  offi- 
cer of  the  day  knew  Nekhlyudov,  and,  being  an  acquaint- 
ance, he  informed  him  of  an  important  piece  of  prison 
news.  The  captain  had  asked  his  discharge,  and  in  his 
place  was  now  another,  a  severe  chief. 

"  There  are  terrible  severities  practised  here  now,"  said 
the  warden.  "  He  is  here  now,  and  will  be  informed  at 
once." 

The  superintendent  was  really  in  the  prison,  and  soon 
came  out  to  Nekhlyudov.  The  new  superintendent  was 
a  tall,  bony  man,  with  protruding  cheek-bones,  very  slow 
in  his  movements,  and  gloomy. 

"  Interviews  are  granted  only  on  stated  days  in  the 
visiting-room,"  he  said,  without  looking  at  Nekhlyudov. 

"  But  I  have  to  give  her  a  petition  to  his  Majesty  to 
sign." 

"  You  can  give  it  to  me." 

"  I  have  to  see  the  prisoner  myself.  I  have  been 
granted  the  permission  before." 

"  That  was  before,"  said  the  superintendent,  looking 
cursorily  at  Nekhlyudov. 

"  I  have  a  permit  from  the  governor,"  Nekhlyudov  in- 
sisted, taking  out  his  pocketbook. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  the  superintendent  kept  saying,  with- 
out looking  at  his  eyes.  He  took  the  paper,  which  Nekh- 
lyudov handed  to  him,  with  his  dry  white  fingers,  with 
a  gold  ring  on  one  of  them,  and  read  it  slowly, 

"  Please  step  into  the  office,"  he  said. 

This  time  there  was  nobody  in  the  office.  The  super- 
intendent sat  down  at  the  table,  rummaging  tli rough  the 
papers  that  were  lying  upon  it,  apparently  intending  to  be 
present  at  the  interview. 

When   Nekhlyudov  asked  him  whether  he  could  not 


448  EESURIIECTION 

see  the  political  prisoner,  Miss  Bogodiikhovski,  the  super- 
intendent curtly  replied  that  it  was  impossible,  "  There 
are  no  interviews  granted  with  political  prisoners,"  he 
said,  again  burying  himself  in  the  reading  of  the  papers. 
Having  a  letter  to  Miss  Bogodiikhovski  in  his  pocket, 
Nekhlyiidov  felt  himself  to  be  in  the  attitude  of  a  guilty 
person  whose  plans  were  discovered  and  destroyed. 

When  Maslova  entered  the  office,  the  superintendent 
lifted  his  head  and,  without  looking  at  either  Maslova  or 
Nekhlyiidov,  said,  "  You  may  ! "  and  continued  to  busy 
himself  with  his  documents. 

Maslova  was  dressed  as  before,  in  a  white  bodice,  skirt, 
and  kerchief.  Upon  approaching  Nekhlyiidov  and  seeing 
his  cold,  unfriendly  face,  she  grew  red  in  her  face  and, 
fingering  the  edge  of  her  bodice,  lowered*  her  eyes. 

Her  embarrassment  was  to  Nekhlyiidov  a  confirmation 
of  the  words  of  the  hospital  porter. 

Nekhlyiidov  wanted  to  address  her  as  at  the  previous 
meeting ;  but  he  could  7wt,  however  much  he  wished  it, 
give  her  his  hand,  because  she  was  so  repulsive  to 
him. 

"  I  have  brought  you  bad  news,"  he  said,  in  an  even 
voice,  without  looking  at  her,  or  giving  her  his  hand. 
"  The  Senate  has  refused  the  appeal." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  said,  in  a  strange  voice,  as  though 
choking. 

At  any  former  time  Nekhlyiidov  would  have  asked 
how  it  was  she  knew ;  but  now  he  only  glanced  at  her. 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

But  this  did  not  appease  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  only 
provoked  him  still  more  against  her. 

The  superintendent  arose,  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  in  the  room. 

In  spite  of  the  disgust  which  Nekhlyiidov  now  felt  for 
Maslova,  he  felt  that  he  must  express  his  regi-et  to  her 
for  the  Senate's  refusal. 


RESURRECTION  449 

"  Do  not  lose  your  courage,"  he  said,  "  the  petition  to 
his  Majesty  may  be  successful,  aud  1  hope  that  —  " 

"  I  am  uot  concerned  about  it,"  she  said,  pitifully 
looking  at  him  with  her  moist  aud  squinting  eyes. 

"  About  what,  then  ? " 

"  You  were  in  the  hospital,  and,  no  doubt,  they  told 

you  —  "  .  .  .  , 

"  That  is  your  affair,"  coldly  said  Nekhlyiidov,  frowning. 
The  dormant  cruel  feeling  of  ofi'ended  pride  arose  in  him 
with  renewed  vigour,  the  moment  she  mentioned  the 
hospital.  "  He,  a  man  of  the  world,  whom  any  girl  of 
the  highest  circle  would  consider  herself  lucky  to  marry, 
had  proposed  to  this  woman  to  become  her  husband,  and 
she  could  not  wait,  but  had  to  begin  intrigues  with  the 
assistant,"  he  thought,  looking  hatefully  at  her. 

"  You  sign  this  petition,"  he  said,  and,  getting  a  large 
envelope  out  of  his  pocket,  he  laid  it  out  on  the  table. 
She  wiped  her  tears  with  the  end  of  her  kerchief,  aud  sat 
down  at  the  table,  asking  him  wdiere  and  what  to  write. 

He  showed  her  where  and  what  to  write,  and  she  sat 
down,  adjusting  the  sleeve  of  her  right  arm  with  her  left 
hand;  he  stood  over  her  and  silently  looked  at  her  bend- 
ing back,  which  now  and  then  was  convulsed  from 
repressed  sobs,  and  in  his  soul  struggled  the  feelings  of 
evil  and  of  good :  of  offended  pride  and  pity  for  her 
suffering,  and  the  latter  feeling  came  out  victorious. 

He  did  not  remember  what  happened  first,  whether  his 
heart  felt  pity  for  her,  or  whether  he  first  thought  of 
himself,  his  sins,  his  own  villainy  in  that  of  which  he 
accused  her.  But  he  suddenly  became  conscious  both 
of  his  guilt  and  of  his  pity  for  her. 

Having  signed  the  petition  and  wiped  her  soiled  finger 
on  her  skirt,  she  arose  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Whatever  may  be  the  issue  of  this,  nothing  will  change 
my  determination,"  said  Nekhlyildov.  The  thought  of 
his  forgiving  her  intensified  in  him  the  feeling  of  pity  and 


450  KESURRECTION 

tenderness,  and  he  wished  to  console  her.  "  I  will  do 
what  I  have  told  you  I  would.  I  shall  be  with  you, 
wherever  you  may  be." 

"  In  vain,"  she  interrupted  him,  and  all  beamed  with 

joy- 

"  Think  of  what  you  need  for  your  journey." 

"  I  think,  nothing  special.     Thank  you." 

The  superintendent  walked  over  to  them,  but  Nekhlyu- 
dov  did  not  wait  for  him  to  make  any  remarks  and  bade 
her  good-bye.  He  went  out,  experiencing  an  entirely  new 
sensation  of  quiet  joy,  calm,  and  love  for  all  men.  Nekh- 
lyiidov  was  rejoiced  to  find  himself  elevated  to  such  an 
unaccustomed  height  where  no  acts  of  Maslova's  could 
change  his  love  for  her.  Let  her  have  intrigues  with  the 
assistant,  —  that  was  her  business,  but  he  loved  her  not 
for  his  own  sake,  but  for  hers  and  God's. 

The  intrigues  with  the  assistant,  for  which  M^slova 
had  been  expelled  from  the  hospital,  and  in  the  existence 
of  which  Nekhlyildov  believed,  consisted  in  this :  at  the 
request  of  the  female  assistant,  she  went  to  the  apothecary- 
room,  which  was  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  to  get  some 
pectoral  tea;  there  she  found  an  assistant,  Ustinov  by 
name,  a  tall  fellow  with  a  blistered  face,  who  had  long 
been  annoying  her  with  his  attentions  ;  in  trying  to  escape 
from  him,  she  pushed  him  so  hard  that  he  struck  against 
a  shelf,  from  which  two  bottles  fell  down  and  broke. 

The  senior  doctor,  who  happened  to  pass  along  the 
corridor,  heard  the  sound  of  broken  glass  and  called  out 
angrily  at  Maslova,  who  was  running  out,  with  her  face 
all  red. 

"  Motherkin,  if  you  are  going  to  start  intrigues  here, 
I'll  have  you  taken  away.  What  is  it  ? "  he  turned  to  the 
assistant,  looking  severely  at  him  over  his  glasses. 

The  assistant  smiled,  and  began  to  justify  himself. 
The  doctor  did  not  listen  to  all  he  had  to  say,  but,  rais- 
ing his  head  in  such  a  way  that  he  began  to  look  through 


RESURRECTION  451 

his  glasses,  went  to  tlie  hospital  rooms ;  he  told  the 
superintendent  that  very  day  to  send  him  another  attend- 
ant in  Maslova's  place,  one  that  would  be  more  reliable. 

That  was  all  there  was  to  Maslova's  intrigues  with 
the  assistant.  This  expulsion  from  the  hospital,  under  the 
pretext  of  her  having  started  intrigues  with  men,  was 
particularly  painful  to  Maslova,  since  after  her  meeting 
with  Nekhlyiidov  all  relations  with  men,  distasteful  as 
they  had  been,  had  become  unusually  repulsive  to  her. 
She  was  especially  offended  to  see  everybody,  and  among 
them  the  assistant  with  the  blistered  face,  judge  her 
from  her  past,  and  from  her  present  position,  considering 
it  proper  to  insult  her  and  wondering  at  her  refusal,  and 
this  provoked  her  pity  for  herself,  and  tears.  As  she  had 
come  out  to  see  Nekhlyiidov,  she  had  intended  to  explain 
away  the  unjust  accusation  which,  no  doubt,  he  must 
have  heard.  But,  as  she  began  to  justify  herself,  she  saw 
that  he  did  not  believe  her  and  that  her  vindication  only 
confirmed  his  suspicion,  and  the  tears  rose  in  her  throat, 
and  she  grew  silent. 

Maslova  was  still  under  the  impression,  and  she  con- 
tinued to  assure  herself  of  it,  that  she  had  not  forgiven 
him  and  that  she  hated  him,  as  she  had  expressed  it 
to  him  at  their  second  meeting,  but  in  reality  she  loved 
him,  and  loved  him  so  that  she  involuntarily  executed  all 
his  wishes :  she  stopped  drinking  and  smoking,  gave  up 
coquetting,  and  had  entered  the  hospital  as  an  attendant. 
She  had  done  it  all  because  she  knew  he  wished  it.  The 
reason  she  so  firmly  refused  to  accept  his  sacrifice  of 
marrying  her,  every  time  he  spoke  of  it,  was  because 
she  wanted  to  repeat  the  proud  words  which  she  had  once 
uttered  to  him,  but  chiefly  because  she  knew  that  his 
marrying  her  could  only  make  him  unhappy.  She  was 
determined  not  to  accept  his  sacrifice,  and  yet  she  was 
pained  to  think  that  he  despised  her,  that  he  thought 
that  she  continued  to  be  such  as  she  had  been,  and  that 


452  RESURRECTION 

he  did  not  see  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in 
her.  She  was  more  pained  by  the  fact  that  he  was  con- 
vinced she  had  done  something  wrong  in  the  hospital 
than  l)y  the  news  that  she  had  finally  been  condemned  to 
hard  labour. 


XXX. 

Maslova  could  be  sent  away  with  the  first  deportation 
party,  and  therefore  Nekhlyiidov  was  getting  ready  for 
the  journey.  He  had  so  many  things  to  attend  to,  that 
he  felt  that  no  matter  how  much  free  time  he  should 
have,  he  would  never  finish  them.  Everything  was  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  had  been  before.  In  former  days  he 
had  to  think  of  what  to  do,  and  the  centre  of  interest  was 
always  the  same  Dmitri  Ivanovich  Nekhlyudov ;  and  yet, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  all  the  interests  of  life 
centred  upon  that  Dmitri  Ivanovich,  all  these  matters 
were  uninteresting  to  him.  Now,  all  his  business  was  in 
reference  to  other  people  than  Dmitri  Ivanovich,  and 
they  were  all  interesting  and  attractive,  and  there  was 
plenty  to  do.  More  than  that,  —  all  the  previous  occu- 
pations and  affairs  of  Dmitri  Ivanovich  had  always  pro- 
voked annoyance  and  petulance,  while  these  affairs  of 
other  people  generally  put  him  in  a  pleasant  mood. 

The  affairs  which  at  that  time  occupied  Nekhlyudov 
were  divided  in  three  categories ;  he  himself,  with  his 
customary  pedantry,  divided  them  in  that  manner,  ar- 
ranging them,  in  accordance  with  that  division,  in  three 
portfolios. 

The  first  affair  was  in  reference  to  Maslova  and  the  aid 
to  be  accorded  her.  This  consisted  in  bringing  influ- 
ence to  bear  on  the  petition  to  his  Majesty,  which  he  had 
sent  in,  and  in  making  preparations  for  the  journey  to 
Siberia. 

The  second  affair  was  in  reference  to  his  estates.  In 
Panovo  the  land  had  been  given  to  the  peasants,  on  condi- 

453 


454  RESURRECTION^ 

tion  that  the  rental  thereof  was  to  be  used  for  the  com- 
mon needs  of  the  village.  But,  in  order  to  confirm  them 
in  their  rights,  he  had  to  write  out  and  sign  the  condi- 
tions and  testament.  In  Kuzminskoe  matters  were  left 
as  he  had  arranged  them,  that  is,  he  was  to  receive  the 
money  for  the  land ;  so  he  had  to  determine  yet  on 
the  periods  of  payment,  and  how  much  of  that  money  he 
was  to  take  for  his  own  use,  and  how  much  was  to  be 
left  for  the  benefit  of  the  peasants.  As  he  did  not  know 
what  expenses  he  would  have  in  the  proposed  journey  to 
Siberia,  he  could  not  decide  to  give  up  this  income,  which 
was  already  cut  down  by  half. 

The  third  affair  was  in  reference  to  the  aid  he  was  to 
bestow  on  the  prisoners  who  kept  turning  to  him  ever 
more  frequently. 

When  he  at  first  came  in  contact  with  the  prisoners, 
who  invoked  his  aid,  he  at  once  set  out  to  intercede  for 
them,  tjyiug  to  alleviate  their  fate ;  but  later  there  was 
such  a  large  number  of  petitioners  that  he  felt  his  in- 
ability to  succour  all  of  them,  and  so  he  was  involuntarily 
led  to  a  fourth  affair,  wliich  occupied  him  of  late  more 
than  any  other. 

This  fourth  affair  consisted  in  the  solution  of  the  ques- 
tion what  was,  for  what  purpose  existed,  and  whence  came 
that  remarkable  institution,  called  the  criminal  court,  the 
result  of  which  was  that  prison,  with  the  inmates  of 
which  he  had  partly  become  acquainted,  and  all  those 
places  of  confinement,  from  the  Petropavlovsk  fortress  to 
Sakhalin,  where  hundreds  and  thousands  of  victims  of 
that  to  him  wonderful  criminal  law  were  pining. 

From  his  personal  relations  with  the  prisoners,  from 
the  stories  of  the  lawyer,  the  prison  priest,  the  superin- 
tendent, and  from  the  lists  of  those  confined,  Nekhlyudov 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  composition  of  the  pris- 
oners, the  so-calletl  criminals,  could  be  divided  into  five 
categories.     One  of  these,  the  first,  consisted  of  entirely 


EESUKKECTION  455 

innocent  people,  victims  of  judicial  error,  like  the  sus- 
pected incendiary  Menshov,  Like  Maslova,  and  others. 
There  were  not  very  many  of  that  category,  —  accordiug 
to  the  priest's  observation,  about  seven  per  cent.,  but  the 
position  of  these  people  evoked  a  special  interest.  The 
second  category  consisted  of  people  who  were  condemned 
for  crimes  committed  under  exceptional  circumstances, 
such  as  excitement,  jealousy,  drunkenness,  and  so  on,  that 
is,  crimes  which  would  be,  no  doubt,  committed  by  those 
who  judged  and  punished  them,  if  subjected  to  the  same 
conditions.  This  category,  according  to  Nekhluydov's 
observations,  was  formed  by  more  than  one-half  of  all  the 
criminals.  The  third  was  composed  of  people  who  were 
punished  for  doing  that  wliich,  in  their  opinion,  consti- 
tuted very  common  and  even  good  acts,  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  strangers  who  had  written  the  laws,  were 
crimes.  To  this  category  belonged  people  who  secretly 
trafficked  in  liquor,  who  smuggled,  and  who  mowed  grass 
and  picked  up  wood  in  the  large  proprietary  and  Crown 
forests.  To  this  same  category  also  belonged  the  thiev- 
ing mountaineers  and  such  infidels  as  robbed  churches. 

The  fourth  category  was  formed  by  people  who  were 
considered  criminals  only  because  they  stood  morally 
above  the  level  of  society.  Such  were  the  sectarians,  the 
Poles,  the  Circassians,  who  rebelled  for  their  freedom ; 
such  were  also  the  political  prisoners,  sociahsts  and 
strikers,  who  were  condemned  for  opposing  the  author- 
ities. The  percentage  of  such  people,  the  very  best  of 
society,  was,  according  to  Nekhlyildov's  observation,  very 
large. 

Finally,  the  fifth  category  was  composed  of  people 
before  whom  society  was  much  more  guilty  than  they 
were  before  society.  Those  were  the  outcasts  who  were 
dulled  by  constant  oppressions  and  temptations  like  the 
boy  with  the  foot-mats  and  hundreds  of  other  people, 
whom  Nekhlyudov  had  seen  in  the  prison  and  outside 


456  KESURRECTION 

the  prison,  whom  the  conditions  of  life  systematically 
lead  to  the  unavoidable  act  which  is  called  a  crime.  To 
such  people  belonged,  according  to  Nekhlyudov's  obser- 
vation, very  many  thieves  and  murderers,  with  some  of 
whom  he  had  during  this  time  come  in  contact.  In  this 
category  he,  having  closely  examined  the  matter,  counted 
also  all  those  corrupt  and  debauched  men  whom  the  new 
school  calls  a  criminal  type,  and  the  presence  of  which  in 
society  is  regarded  as  the  chief  proof  of  the  necessity 
for  criminal  law  and  punishment.  These  so-called  cor- 
rupt, criminal,  abnormal  types  were,  in  Nekhlyudov's 
opinion,  nothing  else  than  those  other  people,  against 
whom  society  had  sinned  more  than  they  had  sinned 
against  society,  but  toward  whom  society  was  not  guilty 
directly,  but  against  whose  parents  and  ancestors  society 
had  sinned  long  ago. 

In  reference  to  this  latter  point,  Nekhlyudov  was 
struck,  among  these  people,  by  the  confirmed  criminal, 
Okhotiu  the  thief,  the  illegitimate  son  of  a  prostitute, 
the  alumnus  of  a  night  lodging-house,  who  apparently,  up 
to  his  thirtieth  year,  had  never  met  men  of  higher  moral- 
ity than  that  of  policemen,  who  had  early  joined  a  gang 
of  thieves,  and  who,  at  the  same  time,  was  endowed  with 
an  unusual  comic  talent,  by  which  he  attracted  people 
to  himself.  He  asked  Nekhlyudov  to  intercede  for  him, 
all  the  while  scoffing  at  himself,  at  the  judges,  at  the 
prison,  and  at  all  laws,  not  only  criminal,  but  also  divine. 
Another  was  handsome  Fedorov,  who,  with  a  gang,  of 
which  he  was  the  leader,  had  killed  and  robbed  an  old 
official.  He  was  a  peasant,  whose  father  had  been  quite 
illegally  deprived  of  his  house,  and  who  later  served  in  the 
army,  where  he  suffered  for  falling  in  love  with  the  mis- 
tress of  an  officer.  He  had  an  attractive,  impassioned 
nature,  and  was  a  man  who  wished  to  enjoy  himself  at 
whatsoever  cost,  who  had  never  seen  any  people  who  in 
any  way  restrained  themselves  in  their  enjoyments,  and 


RESUIIRECTION  457 

who  had  never  heard  that  there  was  any  other  aim  in 
life  than  that  of  enjoyment.  It  was  evident  to  Nekhlyu- 
dov  that  both  were  rich  natures  that  were  neglected  and 
twisted,  as  are  raukly  growing  plants.  He  also  saw  a 
tramp  and  a  woman,  who  repelled  him  by  their  stupidity 
and  seeming  cruelty,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
see  in  them  that  criminal  type,  of  which  the  Italian 
school  speaks,  but  saw  only  people  in  them  who  were 
personally  repulsive  to  him,  just  as  those  were  whom  he 
had  seen  at  large  in  dress  coats,  epaulets,  and  laces. 

So  the  fourth  business  which  interested  Nekhlyiidov  at 
that  time  consisted  in  the  investigation  of  the  question 
why  these  many  different  people  were  imprisoned,  while 
others,  just  such  people  as  these,  were  not  only  at  liberty, 
but  sitting  in  judgment  over  them. 

At  first,  Nekhlyiidov  had  hoped  to  find  an  answer  to 
this  question  in  books,  and  so  he  bought  everything  that 
touched  upon  this  subject.  He  bought  the  books  of  Lom- 
broso,  and  Garofalo,  and  Ferry,  and  Liszt,  and  Maudsley, 
and  Tarde,  and  carefully  perused  these  books. 

But  the  more  he  read  them,  the  more  he  was  disap- 
pointed in  them.  There  happened  to  him  that  which 
always  happens  to  people  who  turn  to  science,  not  in  order 
to  play  a  role  in  science,  to  write,  to  discuss,  to  teach,  but 
to  get  answers  to  straiglit,  simple,  hving  questions  :  science 
gave  him  answer  to  thousands  of  various  extremely  clever 
and  wise  questions,  which  stood  in  some  relation  to  crimi- 
nology, but  not  to  the  question  for  which  he  was  trying  to 
find  an  answer. 

He  propounded  a  very  simple  question  :  Why  and  by 
what  right  does  one  class  of  people  confine,  torture,  deport, 
flog,  and  kill  another,  when  they  themselves  are  no  better 
than  those  whom  they  torture,  flog,  and  kill  ?  To  which 
he  received  replies  in  the  shape  of  reflections  like  these : 
Is  man  possessed  of  freedom  of  the  will,  or  not  ?  Can  a 
man  be  declared  a  criminal  from  cranial  measurements, 


458  RESURKECTION 

and  so  forth,  or  not  ?  What  part  does  heredity  play  in 
crime  ?  Is  there  an  innate  immorality  ?  What  is  moral- 
ity ?  What  is  insanity  ?  What  is  degeneration  ?  What 
is  temperament  ?  What  influence  on  crime  have  cUmate, 
food,  ignorance,  suggestion,  hypnotism,  the  passions  ? 
What  is  society  ?     What  are  its  duties  ?  and  so  forth. 

These  reflections  reminded  Nekhlyiidov  of  an  answer  he 
had  once  received  from  a  small  boy  who  was  returning 
from  school.  Nekhlyiidov  asked  the  boy  whether  he  had 
learned  to  spell.  "  I  have, "  replied  the  boy.  "  Well, 
spell  '  foot.'  "  "  What  kind  of  a  foot,  a  dog's  ?  "  the  boy 
answered,  with  a  cunning  face.  Just  such  answers  in  the 
shape  of  questions  Nekhlyiidov  found  in  scientific  works 
to  his  fundamental  question.  There  was  in  them  much 
which  was  clever,  learned,  and  interesting,  but  there  was 
no  answer  to  the  chief  question  :  By  what  right  do  they 
punish  others  ?  Not  only  was  there  no  answer  to  it,  but 
all  discussions  took  place  in  order  to  explain  and  justify 
punishment,  the  necessity  for  which  was  assumed  as  an 
axiom.  Nekhlyiidov  read  a  great  deal,  by  snatches,  and 
he  ascribed  the  absence  of  an  answer  to  this  superficial 
reading,  hoping  later  to  find  a  reply,  and  so  he  did  not 
permit  himself  to  believe  the  justice  of  the  answer  which 
of  late  presented  itself  to  him  ever  more  frequently. 


XXXI. 

The  party  with  which  Maslova  was  to  be  deported  was 
to  start  ou  July  5th.  Nekhlyudov  was  getting  ready  to 
leave  on  the  same  day.  On  the  day  before  his  departure, 
Nekhlyudov's  sister  and  her  husband  came  to  town  to  see 
him. 

Nekhlyudov's  sister,  Natalya  Ivano\Tia  Eagozhinski, 
was  ten  years  older  than  her  brother.  He  had  partly 
grown  up  under  her  influence.  She  loved  him  very  much 
as  a  boy,  and  later,  just  before  her  marriage,  when  she 
was  twenty-five  years  old  and  he  fifteen,  they  met  almost 
like  equals.  She  was  then  in  love  with  his  deceased 
friend,  Nikoleuka  Irt^nev.  Both  of  them  loved  Nikolenka, 
loving  in  him  and  in  themselves  that  which  was  good  in 
them,  and  which  unites  all  people. 

Since  then  they  had  both  become  corrupted :  he  by  his 
military  service,  and  she  by  her  marrying  a  man  whom 
she  loved  in  a  sensual  way,  but  who  not  only  did  not  love 
all  that  which  had  been  most  sacred  and  dear  to  her  and 
Dmitri,  but  who  even  could  not  understand  what  it  was, 
and  ascribed  all  her  striving  for  moral  perfection  and  for 
serving  people,  which  had  formed  the  basis  of  her  life,  to 
vanity  and  a  desire  to  excel  among  people,  the  only  senti- 
ment he  was  capable  of  comprehending. 

Eagozhinski  was  a  man  without  a  name  or  fortune,  but 
a  very  subservient  official,  who  had  managed  to  make 
a  comparatively  brilliant  judicial  career,  by  artfully  steer- 
ing between  liberalism  and  conservatism,  making  use  of 
the  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  tendencies  which  at  a 
given  moment  and  in  a  given  case  gave  him  the  best 

459 


460  RESURRECTION 

results  for  his  life,  and,  chiefly,  by  something  especial  by 
which  he  pleased  the  ladies.  He  was  a  man  past  his  first 
youth,  when  he  met  the  Nekhlyudovs  abroad ;  he  made 
Natalya,  who  was  not  very  young  then,  fall  in  love  with 
him,  and  married  her,  almost  against  her  mother's  will, 
who  saw  a  mesalliance  iu  this  marriage. 

Nekhlyiidov,  however  much  he  concealed  his  feeling 
from  himself  and  struggled  against  it,  hated  his  brother-in- 
law.  He  had  an  antipathy  for  him  on  account  of  the 
vulgarity  of  his  sentiments,  his  self-confident  narrowness, 
and,  chiefly,  for  the  sake  of  his  sister,  who  was  able  to 
love  this  barren  mind  so  passionately,  selfishly,  and  sen- 
sually, and,  to  please  him,  to  choke  all  the  good  that  had 
been  in  her. 

It  was  always  an  anguish  for  him  to  think  that  Natalya 
was  the  wife  of  that  bearded,  self-confident  man,  with  the 
shining  bald  spot  on  his  head.  He  even  could  not  repress 
a  feeling  of  disgust  for  their  children.  Every  time  he 
heard  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother,  he  experienced 
a  feeling  akin  to  regret  for  having  once  more  become  in- 
fected from  this  man  who  was  strange  to  all  their  interests. 

The  Kagozhinskis  arrived  without  their  children  (they 
had  two,  a  boy  and  a  girl),  and  they  stopped  in  the  best 
room  of  the  best  hotel.  Natalya  Ivanovna  at  once  went 
to  her  mother's  old  quarters,  but  not  finding  her  brother 
there,  and  learning  from  Agrafdna  Petrovna  that  he  had 
taken  furnished  rooms,  at  once  drove  there  to  see  him.  A 
dirty  servant,  who  met  her  iu  the  dark,  oppressive-smell- 
ing corridor,  which  had  to  be  hghted  in  the  daytime,  told 
her  that  the  prince  was  not  at  home. 

Natalya  Ivanovna  wanted  to  go  to  her  brother's  room, 
in  order  to  leave  a  note  there.  The  servant  took  her 
there. 

Upon  entering  his  two  small  rooms,  Natalya  Ivanovna 
surveyed  them  attentively.  She  saw  the  familiar  order 
and   cleanliness   iu    everything,  but  was  struck   by   the 


KESURRECTION  461 

simplicity  of  the  furnishing,  which  was  so  unusual  for 
him.  On  the  writing-desk  she  saw  the  familiar  paper- 
weight with  the  bronze  dog ;  equally  familiar  to  her  were 
the  properly  placed  portfolios  and  papers,  and  the  writing- 
material  ;  and  there  were  some  volumes  of  criminal  juris- 
prudence, and  an  English  book  by  Henry  George,  and 
a  French  book  by  Tarde,  with  a  large,  crooked  ivory 
paper-knife  between  its  leaves. 

She  sat  down  at  the  table  and  wrote  a  note  to  him, 
asking  him  to  be  sure  and  come  to  see  them  that  very 
day ;  shaking  her  head  in  surprise  at  what  she  saw,  she 
returned  to  her  hotel. 

Two  questions  now  interested  ISTatalya  Ivanovna  in 
reference  to  her  brother:  his  marriage  to  Katyusha, 
of  which  she  had  heard  in  her  town,  as  everybody  was 
speaking  of  it,  and  his  distribution  of  land  among  the 
peasants,  which  was  also  known  to  everybody,  and  which 
appeared  to  many  to  have  a  political  and  dangerous  signifi- 
cance. For  one  reason,  his  intended  marriage  to  Ka- 
tyiisha  pleased  ISTatalya  Ivanovna.  She  admired  this 
determination,  and  recognized  him  and  herself  in  it,  such 
as  they  had  been  in  those  good  days  before  her  marriage ; 
at  the  same  time  she  was  horrified  at  the  thought  that 
her  brother  was  going  to  marry  such  a  terrible  woman. 
The  latter  feeling  was  the  stronger,  and  she  decided  to 
use  all  her  influence  to  keep  him  from  it,  although  she 
knew  that  this  would  be  diificult. 

The  other  matter,  his  distribution  of  the  land  to  the 
peasants,  was  not  so  near  to  her  heart,  but  her  husband 
was  incensed  by  it,  and  asked  her  to  use  her  influence 
with  her  brother.  Ignati  Nikiforovich  said  that  such  an 
act  was  the  acme  of  inconsistency,  frivolity,  and  pride, 
that  this  act  could  only  be  explained  —  if  there  was 
any  possibility  at  all  of  explaining  it  —  as  a  desire  to 
show  off,  and  brag,  and  make  people  talk  of  himself. 
"  What  sense  is  there  in  giving  land  to  peasants  with  the 


462  KESURRECTION 

rental  to  revert  to  them  ? "  he  said.  "  If  he  wanted  to  do 
it,  he  could  have  sold  it  through  the  rural  bank.  There 
would  have  been  some  sense  in  that.  Taken  altogether, 
this  act  verges  on  abnormality,"  said  Ignati  Nikiforovich, 
with  an  eye  to  the  guardianship,  insisting  that  his  wife 
should  have  a  serious  talk  with  her  brother  about  this 
strange  intention  of  his. 


xxxn. 

When  Nekhlyudov  returned  home  and  found  the  note 
on  his  table,  he  immediately  went  to  see  her.  It  was  in 
the  evening.  Ignati  Nikiforovich  was  resting  in  another 
room,  and  Natalya  Ivanovna  met  her  brother  alone.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  black  silk  garment  fitting  her  closely, 
with  a  red  ribbon  over  her  chest,  and  her  black  hair  was 
puffed  up  and  combed  according  to  the  latest  fashion. 
She  evidently  tried  to  appear  as  young  as  possible  before 
her  husband,  who  was  of  lier  age.  When  she  saw  her 
brother,  she  jumped  up  from  the  divan,  and  rapidly 
walked  up  to  him,  producing  a  whistling  sound  with  her 
silk  skirt.  They  kissed  and  looked  at  each  other  with 
smiles.  There  took  place  that  mysterious,  inexpressible, 
significant  exchange  of  looks,  in  which  everything  was 
truth,  and  there  began  an  exchange  of  words,  in  which 
there  was  not  that  truth.  They  had  not  seen  each  other 
since  the  death  of  their  mother. 

"  You  have  grown  stouter  and  younger,"  he  said. 

Her  hps  puckered  with  delight. 

"  And  you  look  thinner." 

•'  How  is  Ignati  Nikiforovich  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  He  is  resting.     He  did  not  sleep  last  night." 

There  was  much  to  be  said,  but  the  words  said  nothing, 
while  the  glances  said  that  much  which  ought  to  have 
been  told  had  been  left  untold. 

"  I  was  at  your  room." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  I  have  left  the  house.     It  is  too  large   for  me,  and 

463 


464  KESURRECTION 

lonely,  and  dulL  I  need  none  of  those  things,  so  you  had 
better  take  them,  the  furniture,  and  all  that." 

"  Yes,  Agraf^na  Petrovna  has  told  me  about  it.  I  was 
there.     I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  but  —  " 

Just  then  the  hotel  waiter  brought  a  silver  tea  service. 
They  kept  silent  as  long  as  the  waiter  was  busy  about 
the  service.  Natalya  Ivanovna  walked  over  to  a  chair 
near  a  small  table,  and  silently  poured  in  the  tea.  Nekh- 
lyiidov  was  silent,  too. 

"  Dmitri,  I  know  it  all,"  Natalya  said,  looking  at  him 
with  determination. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  do." 

"  Can  you  hope  to  correct  her  after  such  a  life  ? "  she 
said. 

He  was  sitting  straight,  without  leaning,  on  a  small 
chair,  and  attentively  listened  to  her,  trying  to  catch  all 
her  meaning  and  to  give  her  good  answers.  The  mood 
evoked  in  him  by  his  last  meeting  with  Maslova  con- 
tinued to  fill  his  soul  with  calm  joy  and  good-will  to  all 
men. 

"  I  am  not  after  correcting  her,  but  myself,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Natalya  Ivanovna  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  There  are  other  means  than  marriage." 

"  I  think  this  is  the  best  means ;  and,  besides,  it  takes 
me  into  that  world  where  I  can  be  useful." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  said  Natalya  Ivanovna,  "  that  you 
can  be  happy  there." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  my  happiness." 

"  Of  course.  But  she,  if  she  has  a  heart,  cannot  be 
happy,  and  cannot  even  wish  it." 

"  She  does  not  wish  it  —  " 

"  I  understand,  but  hfe  —  " 

"  What  about  life  ?  " 

"  Demands  it." 

"  It  demands  nothing  but  that  we  should  do  what  is 


RESURRECTION  465 

necessary,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  her  face,  which 
was  still  beautiful,  though  already  covered  with  small 
wrinkles  near  the  eyes  and  mouth. 

"  I  do  not  understand  this,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh, 

"  Poor,  dear  sister.  How  could  she  have  changed  so  ?  " 
Nekhlyudov  thought,  thinking  of  Natalya  as  she  was 
before  her  marriage,  and  drawn  to  her  by  a  tender  feeling 
made  up  of  endless  childish  memories. 

At  this  time  Ignati  Nikiforovich,  bearing,  as  always, 
his  head  high,  expanding  his  broad  chest,  stepping  softly 
and  lightly,  sparkling  with  his  spectacles,  his  bald  spot, 
and  his  black  beard,  entered  the  room,  smiling. 

"  Good  evening,  good  evening,"  he  said,  emphasizing  his 
words  in  an  unnatural  and  conscious  manner.  (At  first 
after  the  marriage  they  had  tried  hard  to  say  "  thou  "  to 
each  other,  but  they  had  not  succeeded.) 

They  pressed  each  other's  hands,  and  Ignati  Nikiforo- 
vich hghtly  fell  back  into  an  armchair. 

"  Am  I  not  interfering  with  your  conversation  ? " 

"  No,  I  conceal  from  nobody  that  which  I  say  and  do." 
The  moment  Nekhlyudov  saw  this  face,  these  hirsute 
hands,  and  heard  his  condescending,  self-confident  voice, 
his  meek  spirit  fled  from  him, 

"We  were  speaking  of  his  mtention,"  said  Natalya 
Ivanovna.  "  Shall  I  give  you  a  glass  ? "  she  added, 
taking  hold  of  the  teapot. 

"  Yes,  if  you  please.     What  intention  ? " 

"  To  go  to  Siberia  with  the  party  of  prisoners,  among 
whom  is  the  woman  toward  whom  I  consider  myself 
guilty,"  said  Nekhlyudov, 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  intend  not  only  to  accompany 
them,  but  to  do  something  more." 

"  Yes,  to  marry  her,  if  she  wishes  it." 

"  I  declare  !  If  it  is  not  unpleasant  to  you,  explain 
your  motives  to  me.     I  do  not  understand  them." 

"The   motives   are  that  this  woman  —  that  her   first 


466  RESURRECTION 

step  on  the  path  of  immorality  — "  Nekhlyudov  was 
augry  at  himself  for  not  being  able  to  find  the  proper 
expression.  "  The  motives  are  that  I  am  guilty,  and  she 
is  punished." 

"  If  she  is  punished,  she,  no  doubt,  is  not  guiltless." 

"  She  is  absolutely  innocent."  Nekhlyudov  told  of  the 
whole  affair  with  unnecessary  agitation. 

"  Yes,  it  is  an  omission  of  the  presiding  judge,  and  con- 
sequently a  carelessness  in  the  reply  of  the  jury.  But 
there  is  a  Senate  for  such  a  thing." 

"  The  Senate  has  refused  the  appeal." 

"  If  it  has  refused  it,  there  could  not  have  been  suffi- 
cient cause  for  an  annulment,"  said  Ignati  Nikiforovich, 
apparently  sharing  the  well-known  opinion  that  truth  is 
a  product  of  a  judicial  verdict.  "  The  Senate  cannot  enter 
into  the  merits  of  the  case.  But  if  there  really  is  an 
error  of  the  court,  his  Majesty  ought  to  be  appealed  to." 

"  That  has  been  done,  but  there  is  no  probability  of 
success.  They  will  inquire  of  the  ministry,  the  ministry 
will  refer  it  to  the  Senate,  the  Senate  will  repeat  its  ver- 
dict, and,  as  ever,  the  innocent  person  will  be  punished." 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  ministry  will  not  ask  the  Sen- 
ate," Ignati  Nikiforovich  said,  with  a  smile  of  condescen- 
sion, "  but  will  ask  the  court  for  the  proceedings  in  the 
case,  and,  if  an  error  is  discovered,  they  will  report  accord- 
ingly ;  and,  secondly,  innocent  people  are  never  punished, 
or,  at  least,  only  in  exceptional  cases.  Only  guilty  people 
are  punished,"  said  Ignati  Nikiforovich,  leisurely,  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  have  become  convinced  of  the  opposite,"  said 
Nekhlyudov,  with  an  evil  feeling  for  his  brother-in-law\ 
"  I  am  convinced  that  the  greater  half  of  those  who  are 
condemned  by  courts  are  innocent." 

"  How  is  that  ? " 

"  They  are  innocent  in  the  straight  sense  of  the  word, 
just  as  this  woman  is  innocent  of  poisoning,  as  a  peasant. 


HesUkrection  467 

whose  acquaintance  I  have  just  made,  is  innocent  of  mur- 
der, which  he  has  not  committed ;  as  a  mother  and  her 
son,  who  came  very  near  being  convicted,  are  innocent  of 
the  incendiarism  caused  by  the  owner  of  the  property." 

"  Of  course,  there  always  have  been  and  always  will  be 
judicial  errors.     A  human  institution  cannot  be  perfect." 

"  Then  an  immense  number  are  innocent  because,  hav- 
ing been  brought  up  in  a  certain  circle,  they  do  not  regard 
their  acts  as  crimes." 

"  Pardon  me,  this  is  unjust.  Every  thief  knows  that 
stealing  is  not  good,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich  said,  with  the 
same  calm,  self-confident,  and  shghtly  contemptuous 
smile,  which  irritated  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  No,  he  does  not.  You  tell  him,  '  Don't  steal ! '  and 
he  sees  that  the  owners  of  factories  steal  his  labour,  re- 
taining his  wages,  that  the  government,  with  all  its 
officials,  does  not  stop  robbing  him,  by  means  of  taxes." 

"  This  is  anarchism,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich  qviietly  defined 
the  meaning  of  the  words  of  his  brother-in-law. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  it  is ;  I  only  tell  you  what 
actually  takes  place,"  continued  Nekhlyiidov.  "  He 
knows  that  the  government  robs  him ;  he  knows  that 
we,  the  landed  proprietors,  have  robbed  him  long  ago, 
by  taking  away  his  land,  which  ought  to  be  a  common 
possession ;  and  then,  when  he  gathers  twigs  on  that  land 
in  order  to  make  a  fire  in  his  stove  with  them,  we  put 
him  in  jail,  and  want  to  convince  liim  that  he  is  a  thief. 
He  knows  that  he  is  not  the  tliief,  but  that  the  thief  is  he 
who  has  taken  away  the  land  from  him,  and  that  every 
restitution  of  that  which  has  been  stolen  is  a  duty  which 
he  has  to  his  family." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  and  if  I  do,  I  do  not  agree 
with  you.  The  land  cannot  help  being  somebody's  prop- 
erty. If  you  were  to  divide  it  up,"  began  Ignati  Nikiforo- 
vich, with  the  full  and  calm  conviction  that  Nekhlyudov 
was  a  socialist,  and  that  the  theory  of  sociahsm  consisted 


468  RESURRECTION 

in  the  demand  that  the  land  be  divided  up  in  equal  parts, 
and  that  such  a  division  was  very  foolish,  and  he  could 
easily  prove  its  inconsistencies,  "  if  you  were  to  divide  it 
up  to-day  in  equal  parts,  they  will  to-morrow  pass  back 
into  the  hands  of  the  most  industrious  and  able  men." 

"  Nol)ody  intends  to  divide  the  land  up  equally.  The 
land  ought  to  be  nobody's  property ;  it  ought  not  to  be 
the  subject  of  purchase  and  sale,  or  of  mortgaging." 

"  The  right  of  property  is  inborn  in  man.  Without 
property  rights  there  will  be  no  interest  in  working  the 
land.  Take  away  the  right  of  ownersliip,  and  we  return 
to  the  savage  state,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich  said,  authorita- 
tively, repeating  the  customary  argument  in  favour  of  the 
ownership  of  land,  which  is  considered  incontestable,  and 
which  consists  in  the  assumption  that  the  greed  for  the 
ownership  of  land  is  a  sign  of  its  necessity. 

"  On  the  contrary.  The  land  will  not  lie  idle,  as  it 
does  now,  when  the  proprietors,  like  dogs  in  the  manger, 
do  not  allow  those  to  make  use  of  it  who  can,  and  them- 
selves do  not  know  how  to  exploit  it." 

"  Listen,  Dmitri  Ivanovich  !  This  is  absolutely  sense- 
less !  Is  it  possible  in  our  day  to  do  away  with  the 
ownership  of  land  ?  I  know  this  is  your  hobby.  But 
let  me  tell  you  straight  — "  Ignati  Nikif orovich  grew 
pale,  and  his  voice  trembled ;  this  question  evidently 
touched  him  closely.  "  I  should  advise  you  to  consider 
this  subject  carefully,  before  you  enter  on  its  practical 
solution." 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  my  own  personal  affairs  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  assume  that  we  are  all  placed  in  a  certain 
position,  that  we  must  carry  out  the  duties  which  flow 
from  this  position,  that  we  must  maintain  the  conditions 
of  existence  under  which  we  were  born,  which  we  have 
inherited  from  our  ancestors,  and  which  we  must  transmit 
to  our  posterity." 

"  I  consider  my  duty  to  be  —  " 


RESUKRECTION  469 

"  Excuse  me,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich  continued,  not  allow- 
ing himself  to  be  interrupted.  "  I  am  not  speaking  for 
myself,  nor  for  my  children,  who  are  securely  provided 
for ;  I  am  earning  enougli  to  live  comfortably,  and  I  sup- 
pose my  children  will  not  have  to  suffer;  therefore  my 
protest  against  your  ill-advised  actions,  permit  me  to  say, 
originates  not  in  my  personal  interests,  but  because  I 
cannot  agree  with  you  from  principle.  I  should  advise 
you  to  think  about  them  a  little  more  carefully,  and  to 
read  —  " 

"  You  wiU  permit  me  to  attend  to  my  own  business, 
and  to  decide  for  myself  what  I  am  to  read,  and  what 
not,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  growing  pale.  He  felt  his  hands 
becoming  cold,  and  that  he  was  losing  control  of  himself, 
so  he  grew  silent,  and  began  to  drink  tea. 


xxxin. 

"  How  are  the  children  ? "  Nekhlyudov  asked  his  sister, 
after  he  had  somewhat  composed  himself. 

She  told  him  that  they  had  been  left  with  their  grand- 
mother, her  husband's  mother.  Happy  to  see  that  the 
discussion  with  her  husband  had  come  to  an  end,  she 
began  to  tell  him  how  her  children  played  travelling  just 
as  he  had  done  with  his  dolls,  —  one  a  negro,  and  the 
other  called  a  Frenchwoman. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  ?  "  said  Nekhlyudov,  smiling. 

"Just  think  of  it,  they  are  playing  in  precisely  the. 
same  manner." 

The  disagreeable  conversation  was  not  renewed.  Na- 
talya  calmed  herself,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  speak  in  the 
presence  of  her  husband  of  that  which  her  brother  alone 
could  understand  ;  in  order  to  introduce  a  general  subject, 
she  mentioned  the  St.  Petersburg  news  that  had  just 
reached  them  in  reference  to  the  sorrow  of  Madame  Ka- 
menski,  who  had  lost  her  only  son  m  the  duel.  Ignati 
Nikiforovich  expressed  his  disapproval  of  the  order  of 
things  which  excluded  murder  in  a  duel  from  the  common 
order  of  capital  crimes. 

This  remark  called  forth  a  retort  from  Nekhlyudov, 
and  there  again  flamed  up  a  discussion  on  the  same 
theme,  where  everything  was  only  half  said,  and  both 
interlocutors  did  not  express  their  full  views,  but  per- 
sisted in  their  mutually  condemnatory  convictions.  Ignati 
Nikiforovich  felt  that  Nekhlyudov  condemned  him  and 
despised  all  his  activity,  and  he  was  anxious  to  show  him 
the  whole  injustice  of  his  judgments.     Nekhlyudov  again, 

470 


RESUERECTION  471 

indepeudently  of  the  annoyance  he  experienced  from  his 
brother-iu-law's  interference  in  his  land  affairs  (in  the 
depth  of  his  soul  he  felt  that  his  brother-in-law  and  his 
sister  and  their  children,  as  his  heirs,  had  a  right  to  it), 
fretted  because  this  narrow-minded  man  continued,  with 
the  greatest  confidence  and  composure,  to  regard  that  as 
regular  and  legal  which  to  Nekhlyudov  now  appeared 
as  unquestionably  senseless  and  criminal.  This  self-confi- 
dence irritated  Nekhlyudov. 

"  What  would  the  court  have  done  ? "  asked  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  It  would  have  convicted  one  of  the  two  duellists  as  a 
common  murderer,  and  would  have  sent  him  to  hard 
labour." 

Nekhlyudov's  hands  again  grew  cold,  and  he  said, 
excitedly : 

"  What  would  have  been  then  ?  " 

"  Justice  would  have  been  done." 

"As  though  justice  formed  the  aim  of  a  court's  activ- 
ity," said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  What  else,  if  not  that  ?  " 

"  The  maintenance  of  class  interests.  The  courts,  in 
my  opinion,  are  only  an  administrative  tool  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  existing  order  of  things,  which  is 
advantageous  for  our  class." 

"  This  is  an  entirely  novel  view,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich 
said,  with  a  calm  smile.  "  A  somewhat  different  meaning 
is  commonly  ascribed  to  the  courts." 

"  Theoretically,  and  not  practically,  as  I  have  had 
occasion  to  see.  The  purpose  of  the  courts  is  the  main- 
tenance of  society  in  its  present  condition,  and  so  they 
prosecute  and  punish  equally  these  who  stand  higher 
than  the  common  average,  and  who  wish  to  lift  it  up, 
the  so-called  political  criminals,  and  those  who  stand 
below  it,  the  so-called  criminal  types." 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  first,  that  all  so-called  politi- 


472  RESURRECTION 

cal  prisoners  are  punished  for  standing  higher  than  the 
common  average.  They  are  chiefly  outcasts  of  society,  just 
as  corrupt,  although  somewhat  differently,  as  those  crim- 
inal types,  whom  you  consider  to  be  below  the  average." 

"  I  know  many  people  who  stand  incomparably  higher 
than  their  judges ;  all  the  sectarians  are  moral,  firm 
people  —  " 

But  Ignati  Nikiforovich,  with  the  habit  of  a  man  who 
is  not  interrupted,  when  he  is  speaking,  was  not  listening 
to  Nekhlyildov,  and  continued  to  speak  at  the  same  time 
with  Nekhlyiidov,  which  especially  irritated  him. 

"  Nor  can  I  agree  with  your  statement  that  the  pur- 
pose of  the  courts  is  the  maintenance  of  the  existing 
order.  The  courts  pursue  their  aims,  which  are  the 
correction  —  " 

"  The  correction  they  receive  in  jail  is  fine,"  interposed 
Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Or  the  removal,"  stubbornly  proceeded  Ignati  Nikifor- 
ovich, "  of  those  corrupt  and  beastly  people  who  threaten 
the  existence  of  society." 

"  The  trouble  is  they  do  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
Society  has  not  the  means  for  accomplishing  it." 

"How  is  that?  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Ignati 
Nikiforovich,  with  a  forced  smile. 

"  I  mean  to  say  that  there  are  only  two  really  sensible 
punishments,  those  that  were  in  vogue  in  ancient  days, 
the  corporal  and  capital  punishments,  which,  on  account 
of  the  refinement  of  manners,  are  going  ever  more  out  of 
use,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  This  is  new,  and  rather  remarkable  from  your  mouth." 

"  There  is  some  sense  in  causing  a  man  bodily  pain,  so 
that  he  may  abstain  in  the  future  from  doing  that  for 
which  he  has  received  the  punishment,  and  there  is  good 
reason  to  chop  off  the  head  of  a  dangerous  and  hurtful 
member  of  society.  Both  these  punishments  have  a 
sensible  purpose.     But  what  sense  is  there  in  locking  up 


RESURRECTION  473 

a  man,  who  is  corrupt  through  indolence  and  bad  example, 
subjecting  him  to  conditions  of  secure  and  obligatory  in- 
dolence, in  company  with  exceedingly  corrupt  people  ? 
Or  to  transport  them  at  the  expense  of  the  Crown,  — 
each  costs  more  than  five  hundred  roubles,  —  from  the 
Government  of  Tula  to  Irkutsk,  or  from  the  Government 
of  Kursk  —  " 

"  But  the  people  are  afraid  of  this  journey  at  the 
Crown's  expense,  and  if  it  were  not  for  these  journeys  and 
prisons,  we  should  not  be  sitting  here  as  securely  as  we 
are." 

"  These  prisons  cannot  ensure  our  security,  because 
these  people  do  not  stay  there  all  the  time,  but  are  let 
out  again.  On  the  contrary,  in  these  institutions  these 
people  are  made  acquainted  with  the  highest  degree  of 
vice  and  corruption,  that  is,  the  danger  is  only  increased." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  the  penitentiary  system  ought 
to  be  improved." 

"  It  cannot  be  improved.  The  improved  prisons  would 
cost  more  than  what  is  spent  on  popular  education,  and 
would  impose  a  new  burden  on  the  people." 

"  But  the  imperfections  of  the  penitentiary  system  by 
no  means  invalidate  the  courts,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich  con- 
tinued his  speech,  paying  no  attention  to  his  brother-in-law. 

"  These  imperfections  cannot  be  corrected,"  Nekhlyiidov 
said,  raising  his  voice. 

"  So,  according  to  you,  we  shall  have  to  kill  ?  Or,  as  a 
statesman  has  proposed,  we  ought  to  put  out  their  eyes," 
said  Ignati  Nikiforovich,  with  a  victorious  smile. 

"  This  would  be  cruel,  but  to  the  point.  But  that 
which  is  being  done  now  is  not  only  not  to  the  point,  but 
so  stupid  that  it  is  impossible  to  understand  how  men- 
tally healthy  people  can  take  part  in  so  stupid  and  cruel 
a  business  as  a  criminal  court." 

"I  am  taking  part  in  it,"  Ignati  Nikiforovich  said, 
growing  pale. 


474  KESUKRECTION 

"  That  is  your  business.     But  I  do  not  understand  it." 

"  I  think  there  are  many  things  which  you  do  not 
understand,"  Iguati  Nikiforovich  said,  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"  I  saw  the  associate  prosecutor  use  all  his  endeavour 
at  court  to  convict  an  unfortunate  boy,  who  in  any 
uncorrupted  man  ought  to  provoke  nothing  but  compas- 
sion. I  know  how  another  prosecutor  examined  a  sec- 
tarian and  made  out  the  reading  of  the  Gospel  a  crimi- 
nal offence.  The  whole  activity  of  the  courts  consists  in 
such  senseless  and  cruel  acts." 

"  I  should  not  serve,  if  I  thought  so,"  said  Ignati  Niki- 
forovich, rising. 

Nekhlyildov  noticed  a  peculiar  sparkle  under  the  spec- 
tacles of  his  brother-in-law.  "  Can  it  be  tears  ?  "  thought 
Nekhlyiidov.  Indeed,  those  were  tears  of  affront.  Ignati 
Mkiforovich  went  up  to  the  window,  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief, and,  clearing  his  throat,  began  to  clean  his 
glasses,  at  the  same  time  wiping  his  eyes.  Upon  return- 
ing to  the  sofa,  Iguati  Nikiforovich  lighted  a  cigar,  and 
never  said  another  word.  Nekhlyudov  was  ashamed 
and  pained  at  having  grieved  his  brother-in-law  and  his 
sister  to  such  an  extent,  especially  since  he  was  to  leave 
on  the  next  day,  and  would  not  see  them  again.  He  bade 
them  farewell  in  embarrassment,  and  went  home. 

"  It  may  be  that  what  I  said  was  true,  at  least  he  has 
not  successfully  answered  me ;  but  I  ought  not  to  have 
spoken  to  him  in  such  a  manner.  I  have  changed  little 
enough,  if  I  can  allow  myself  "to  be  so  carried  away  by  an 
evil  passion,  and  so  insult  him  and  grieve  poor  Natalya," 
thought  he. 


XXXIV. 

The  party  with  which  Maslova  went  was  to  start  from 
the  station  at  three  o'clock,  and  therefore,  in  order  to  see 
them  depart  from  the  prison  and  to  reach  the  station 
with  them,  Nekhlyudov  intended  to  arrive  at  the  prison 
before  noon. 

As  Nekhlyudov  was  putting  away  his  things  and  his 
papers,  he  stopped  at  his  diary  and  began  to  read  some 
passages  in  it,  and  what  he  had  last  written  in  it.  The 
last  thing  he  had  noted  down  before  his  departure  for  St. 
Petersburg  ran  as  follows :  "  Katyusha  does  not  wish  my 
sacrifice,  but  her  own.  She  has  conquered,  and  so  have 
I.  I  rejoice  in  that  internal  change  which  I  think  —  I 
hardly  dare  beheve  it  —  is  taking  place  within  her. 
I  hardly  dare  believe  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  she  is  reviv- 
ing." Immediately  after  it  was  written :  "  I  have  passed 
through  a  very  heavy  and  a  very  joyful  experience.  I 
have  learned  that  she  did  not  behave  well  in  the  hospital. 
It  gave  me  a  sudden  pang.  I  spoke  to  her  in  disgust  and 
hatred,  and  then  I  suddenly  thought  of  myself  and  of 
how  often  I  have  even  now  been,  in  thought,  guilty  be- 
fore her  of  the  very  thing  for  which  I  hated  her,  and 
immediately  I  loathed  myself  and  pitied  her,  and  I 
was  happy.  How  much  better  we  should  be  if  we 
succeeded  in  time  in  seeing  the  beam  in  our  own  eye." 
On  the  last  day  he  had  written  :  "  I  saw  Natalya,  and  my 
contentment  made  me  unkind  and  cross,  and  a  heavy 
feeling  is  left  behind.  What  is  to  be  done  1  With  to- 
morrow a  new  life  begins.     Good-bye,  old  hie,  for  ever. 

475 


476  RESURRECTION 

There  is  an  accumulation  of  many  impressions,  but  I 
cannot  yet  harmonize  them." 

Upon  awakening  on  the  following  morning,  Nekhlyii- 
dov's  first  feeling  was  regret  at  what  had  happened 
between  him  and  his  brother-in-law.  "  I  cannot  leave 
thus,"  he  thought.  "  I  must  go  to  see  them  and  smooth 
it  over."  But  when  he  looked  at  his  watch,  he  saw  that 
it  was  too  late,  and  that  he  had  to  hurry,  in  order  not  to 
miss  the  departure  of  the  party.  He  quickly  collected 
all  his  things  and  sent  them  by  the  porter  and  by  Taras, 
Feddsya's  husband,  who  was  travelling  with  him,  straight 
to  the  station ;  then  he  took  the  first  cab  he  could  get, 
and  drove  to  the  prison. 

As  the  train  of  the  prisoners  left  within  two  hours  of  the 
express  on  which  Nekhlyiidov  was  to  travel,  he  settled 
his  bill  at  the  hotel,  not  intending  to  come  back  again. 

It  was  an  oppressive  July  day.  The  stones  of  the 
streets  and  houses,  and  th*^,  iron  sheets  of  the  roofs,  which 
had  not  cooled  off  after  the  sultry  night,  reflected  their  heat 
into  the  close,  immovable  air.  There  was  no  wind ; 
whenever  a  breeze  started,  it  wafted  a  hot  and  malo- 
dorous air,  saturated  with  dust  and  the  stench  of  oil- 
paint.  There  were  but  few  people  in  the  streets,  and 
those  that  were  out  tried  to  walk  in  the  shade  of  the 
houses.  Only  the  tawny,  sunburnt  peasant  street-pavers 
in  their  bast  shoes  were  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  and  striking  their  hammers  on  the  cobblestones 
that  were  placed  in  the  hot  sand ;  gloomy  policemen,  in 
unbleached  blouses  and  with  the  orange-coloured  ribbons 
of  their  revolvers,  stood  along  the  streets,  sullenly  chang- 
ing their  places ;  and  the  tram-cars,  shaded  by  blinds  on 
the  sunny  side,  and  drawn  by  horses  in  white  capotes, 
with  tlieir  ears  sticking  through  the  openings  in  the 
clotli,  ran,  tinkling,  up  and  down  the  streets. 

When  Nekhlyiidov  reached  the  prison,  the  convoy  of 


RESURRECTION  477 

prisoners  had  not  yet  started,  aud  within  the  jail  the  trans- 
fer of  the  prisoners  to  be  taken  away,  which  had  begun  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  was  still  causing  busy  work. 
In  the  party  were  623  men  and  sixty-four  women.  They 
had  all  to  be  checked  off  on  the  lists ;  the  ailing  and 
feeble  had  to  be  segregated ;  and  they  had  to  be  handed 
over  to  the  soldiers  of  the  guard.  The  new  superintend- 
ent, two  assistants  of  his,  the  doctor,  with  his  assistant, 
the  officer  of  the  guard,  and  the  scribe  were  seated  at  a 
table,  which  was  placed  in  the  yard,  in  the  shade  of 
a  wall ;  on  it  were  lying  papers  and  apyjurtenances  of  the 
chancery.  They  called  out,  examined,  and  noted  down 
one  prisoner  after  another,  as  they  walked  up  to  the  table. 

The  sun  was  now  falling  over  half  the  table.  It  was 
growing  hot  and  extremely  sultry,  both  from  the  absence 
of  a  breeze  and  from  the  exhalations  of  the  throng  of 
prisoners  who  were  standing  there. 

"  Will  there  ever  be  an  end  of  it  ? "  said,  puffing  at  his 
cigarette,  the  tall,  stout,  red-faced  officer  of  the  guard, 
with  his  raised  shoulders  and  short  arms,  who  never 
stopped  smoking  through  his  moustache,  which  covered 
his  mouth.  "  They  are  tiring  me  out.  Where  did  you  get 
such  a  lot  of  them  ?     How  many  more  will  there  be  ?  " 

The  scribe  looked  up  the  matter. 

"  Twenty-four  men  more,  and  the  v/omen." 

"  Don't  stand  there,  but  walk  up  here ! "  cried  the 
officer  to  the  prisoners  who  had  not  yet  been  checked  off, 
and  who  were  crowding  each  other.  They  had  been  stand- 
ing for  three  hours  in  rows,  not  in  the  shade,  but  in  the 
sun,  waiting  for  their  turns. 

This  was  the  work  which  was  going  on  within  the 
precincts  of  the  prison  ;  without,  at  the  gate,  stood,  as 
always,  a  sentry  with  a  gun,  and  about  twenty  drays  for 
the  belongings  of  the  prisoners  and  for  the  feeble,  and  at 
the  corner  there  was  a  throng  of  relatives  and  friends,  who 
were  waiting  for  the  prisoners  to  come  out,  in  order  to  see 


478  RESURRECTION 

them,  and,  if  possible,  to  say  a  few  words  and  give  them 
something  for  their  journey.  Nekhlyiidov  joined  this 
crowd. 

He  stood  there  about  an  hour.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  there  was  heard  the  clanking  of  chains  within  the 
gate,  the  sound  of  steps,  the  voices  of  the  officers,  clearing 
of  throats,  and  the  subdued  conversation  of  a  large  throng. 
This  lasted  about  five  minutes,  during  which  the  wardens 
walked  in  and  out  through  a  small  door.  Finally  a  com- 
mand was  given.  The  gate  opened  with  a  crash,  the 
clanking  of  the  chains  became  louder,  and  the  soldiers  of 
the  guard,  in  white  blouses  and  with  their  guns,  came 
out  and,  apparently  executing  a  familiar  and  habitual 
evolution,  took  up  a  position  in  a  large  semicircle  around 
the  gate.  When  they  had  taken  their  stand,  another 
command  was  heard,  and  the  prisoners  began  to  come  out 
in  pairs :  they  wore  pancake-shaped  caps  on  their  shaven 
heads,  and  carried  bags  on  their  backs ;  they  dragged  along 
their  fettered  legs,  swung  their  one  free  arm,  and  with  the 
other  held  the  bags  over  their  shoulders.  First  came 
the  male  prisoners,  who  were  to  be  deported  to  hard 
labour,  —  all  of  them  wearing  the  same  gray  trousers 
and  cloaks,  with  black  marks  on  their  backs.  All  of 
them  —  whether  they  were  young,  old,  lean,  stout,  pale, 
red,  blac]^,  bearded,  mustachioed,  beardless,  Eussians, 
Tartars,  or  Jews  —  came  out  rattling  with  their  chains 
and  briskly  swinging  their  arms,  as  though  going  out  for 
a  long  walk,  but  after  making  about  ten  steps  they  stopped 
and  docilely  arranged  themselves  in  rows  of  four,  one 
behind  the  other.  After  these,  without  interruption, 
there  were  poured  forth  from  the  gate  just  such  shaven 
prisoners,  without  their  leg-fetters,  but  chained  to  each 
other  by  handcuffs,  and  wearing  the  same  kind  of  garb. 
These  were  the  prisoners  to  be  deported  for  settlement. 
They  walked  out  just  as  briskly,  stopped,  and  also  arranged 
themselves  in  rows  of  four.     Then  came  those  deported  by 


RESURRECTION  479 

the  Communes.  Then  the  women,  also  in  successive  order : 
first  the  hard  labour  convicts,  in  gray  prison  caftans  and 
kerchiefs,  then  the  deportation  convicts,  and  those,  who 
voluntarily  followed  their  husbands,  in  their  city  and 
peasant  attires.  A  few  of  the  women  carried  babes  in 
the  folds  of  their  gray  caftans. 

With  the  women  walked  their  children,  boys  and  girls. 
These  children  pressed  close  to  the  prisoners,  like  colts 
in  a  herd  of  horses.  The  men  stood  silent,  now  and  then 
clearing  their  throats,  or  making  abrupt  remarks.  But 
the  women  chattered  incessantly.  Nekhlyudov  thought 
he  had  recoguized  Maslova  as  she  came  out  of  the  gate, 
but  later  she  was  lost  in  the  large  throng  of  the  women 
who  were  placed  back  of  the  men,  and  he  saw  only  a 
crowd  of  gray 'beings,  which  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
human,  especially  all  feminine,  qualities,  with  their 
children  and  their  sacks. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  all  the  prisoners  had 
been  counted  within  the  walls  of  the  prison,  the  soldiers 
of  the  guard  began  to  count  them  again,  in  order  to  see 
whether  they  tallied  with  the  previous  number.  This 
recounting  lasted  for  a  long  time,  especially  since  some 
of  the  prisoners  kept  moving  about  and  confusing  the 
counts  of  the  soldiers.  The  soldiers  cursed  and  pushed 
the  submissive,  but  angry  prisoners,  and  began  to  count 
anew.  After  they  had  all  been  counted,  the  officer  of 
the  guard  gave  a  command,  and  then  there  was  a  dis- 
turbance in  the  crowd.  Feeble  men,  women,  and  children, 
trying  to  outrun  each  other,  hurried  to  the  wagons,  where 
they  deposited  their  bags,  and  themselves  chmbed  in. 
Into  them  also  climbed  the  women  with  the  crying  suck- 
liug  babes,  the  cheerful  children,  who  were  contending 
for  their  seats,  and  grim,  gloomy  prisoners. 

A  few  prisoners  doffed  their  caps,  and  walked  over  to 
the  officer  of  the  guard,  to  ask  him  for  something. 
Nekhlyudov  later  learned  that  they  were  asking  to  be 


480  KESUERECTION 

allowed  to  ride  in  the  wagons.  Nekhlyiidov  saw  the  officer 
calmly  puff  at  his  cigarette,  without  looking  at  the 
speaker,  and  then  suddenly  lift  his  short  arm,  as  though 
to  strike  the  prisoner,  and  the  latter,  ducking  his  head,  in 
expectation  of  a  blow,  jump  away  from  him. 

"  I  will  make  such  a  nobleman  of  you  that  you  will 
remember  me !  You  will  get  there  on  foot ! "  cried  the 
officer. 

The  officer  permitted  only  one  tottering  tall  old  man, 
in  leg-fetters,  to  take  a  seat  in  a  wagon,  and  Nekhlyiidov 
saw  this  old  man  take  off  his  pancake-shaped  cap  and' 
make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  as  he  was  walking  toward  the 
wagon.  He  had  a  hard  time  getting  in,  as  the  chains 
made  it  hard  for  him  to  lift  his  weak,  fettered  legs,  and  a 
woman,  who  was  already  seated  in  the  wa«on,  helped  him, 
by  pulling  him  up  by  his  arms. 

When  all  the  wagons  were  filled  with  the  bags,  and 
those  who  were  permitted  had  taken  their  seats  in  them, 
the  officer  of  the  guard  took  off  his  cap,  wiped  his  fore- 
head, his  bald  pate,  and  his  stout  red  neck  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  The  party,  march  ! "  he  commanded.  The  soldiers 
clattered  with  their  guns ;  the  prisoners  took  off  their 
caps,  some  doing  so  with  their  left  hands,  and  began  to 
cross  themselves ;  the  friends  who  were  seeing  them  off 
called  out  something ;  the  prisoners  cried  something  in 
reply  ;  among  the  women  weeping  was  heard,  —  and  the 
party,  surrounded  by  soldiers  in  white  blouses,  started, 
raising  the  dust  with  their  fettered  legs.  In  front  were 
soldiers ;  behind  them,  clanking  with  their  chains,  were  the 
fettered  men,  four  in  a  row ;  then  came  the  deportation 
convicts,  then  the  communal  prisoners,  handcuffed  by 
twos ;  and  then  the  women.  After  these  followed  the 
Vv'agons  with  the  bags  and  the  feeble  prisoners.  On  one 
of  these,  on  a  high  load,  sat  a  woman,  who  was  all  wrapped 
up,  and  who  did  not  stop  wailing  and  sobbing. 


XXXV. 

The  procession  was  so  long  that  only  when  the  men 
in  front  had  disappeared  from  view,  the  wagons  began  to 
move.  When  these  started,  Nekhlyiidov  seated  himself 
in  the  cab,  which  was  waiting  for  liim,  and  ordered  the 
driver  to  drive  past  the  party,  in  order  to  see  whether 
there  were  no  men  among  them  whom  he  knew,  and  then, 
to  find  Maslova  among  the  women  and  to  ask  her  whether 
she  had  received  the  things  which  he  had  sent  her. 

It  was  very  hot.  There  was  no  breeze,  and  the  dust 
which  was  raised  by  a  thousand  feet  hovered  all  the  time 
above  the  prisoners  who  were  walking  in  the  middle  of 
the  street.  They  marched  rapidly,  and  the  dobbin  of  the 
cab,  in  which  Nekhlyiidov  was  riding,  took  a  long  time 
in  getting  ahead  of  the  procession.  There  were  rows  and 
rows  of  unfamiliar  creatures  of  strange  and  terrible  aspect, 
moving  in  even  measure  their  similarly  clad  legs,  and 
swinging  their  free  arms,  as  though  to  give  themselves 
courage.  There  were  so  many  of  them,  and  they  so  re- 
sembled each  other,  and  were  placed  in  such  exceptional 
and  strange  conditions,  that  it  seemed  to  Nekhlyiidov 
that  they  were  not  men,  but  some  peculiar,  terrible  beings. 
This  impression  was  shattered  by  his  espying,  in  the 
throng  of  the  hard  labour  convicts,  murderer  F^dorov, 
and,  among  the  deportation  convicts  his  acquaintance,  the 
comedian  Okhdtin,  and  another,  a  tramp,  who  had  invoked 
his  aid. 

Nearly  all  the  prisoners  turned  around,  eyeing  the 
vehicle  which  was  driving  past  them,  and  the  gentleman 

481 


482  RESURRECTION 

in  it,  who  was  looking  closely  at  them.  Fedorov  gave 
an  upward  shake  of  the  head  in  token  of  his  having 
recognized  Nekhlyiidov ;  Okhotin  only  winked.  Neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  bowed,  considering  this  to  be  against 
the  regulation.  Upon  coming  abreast  with  the  women, 
Nekhlyildov  at  once  recognized  Maslova.  She  was  walk- 
ing in  the  second  row.  On  the  outside  walked  a  red- 
faced,  short-legged,  black-eyed,  ugly  woman  ;  it  was  Beauty. 
Then  followed  a  pregnant  woman,  who  with  difficulty 
dragged  her  legs  along ;  the  third  was  Maslova.  She  was 
carrying  a  bag  over  her  shoulder,  and  was  looking  straight 
ahead  of  her.  Her  face  was  calm  and  determined.  The 
fourth  one  in  the  same  row  was  a  young,  handsome 
woman,  in  a  short  cloak  and  with  her  kerchief  tied  in 
peasant  fashion,  stepping  briskly,  —  that  was  Fedosya. 
Nekhlyiidov  got  down  from  the  vehicle  and  walked  over 
to  the  moving  women,  wishing  to  ask  Maslova  whether 
she  had  received  the  things,  and  how  she  felt ;  but  the 
under-officer  of  the  guard,  who  was  walking  on  the  same 
side  of  the  party,  having  at  once  noticed  him,  ran  up  to 
him. 

"  It  is  not  permitted,  sir,  to  walk  up  to  the  party,  —  it 
is  against  the  law,"  he  cried,  as  he  was  coming  up. 

Having  come  close,  and  recognizing  Nekhlyudov  (every- 
body in  the  prison  knew  him),  the  under-officer  put  his 
fingers  to  his  cap,  and,  stopping  near  Nekhlyudov,  said, 
"  Here  it  is  not  permitted.  At  the  station  you  may,  but 
here  it  is  against  the  law.  Don't  stop !  March  !  "  he  cried 
to  the  prisoners,  and,  trying  to  appear  dashing,  in  spite  of 
the  heat,  galloped  off  in  his  new  foppish  boots  to  his 
place. 

Nekhlyudov  walked  down  to  the  sidewalk,  and,  order- 
ing the  vehicle  to  follow  him,  kept  in  the  sight  of  the 
party.  Wherever  the  procession  passed  it  attracted  atten- 
tion mingled  witli  compassion  and  terror.  People  in  their 
carriages  put  out  their  heads  and  followed  the  prisoners 


RESURRECTION  483 

with  their  eyes.  Pedestrians  stopped  and  looked  in 
amazement  and  fear  at  this  terrible  spectacle.  Some 
walked  up  and  offered  alms.  The  soldiers  of  the  guard 
received  these  gifts.  Some  followed  in  the  wake  of  the 
procession,  as  though  hypnotized,  and  then  they  stopped 
and,  shaking  their  heads,  accompanied  the  party  with 
their  eyes  only.  People  rushed  out  from  the  front  steps 
and  gates,  calling  to  each  other,  or  hung  out  of  the  win- 
dows, and  immovably  and  silently  watched  the  terrible 
procession. 

At  a  cross  street  the  party  stopped  the  passage  for  an 
elegant  carriage.  On  the  box  sat  a  broad-backed  coach- 
man, with  a  shining  face  and  a  row  of  buttons  on  his 
back ;  in  the  carriage,  on  the  back  seat,  sat  a  man  with 
his  wife ;  the  wife  was  thin  and  pale,  in  a  bright-coloured 
hat,  with  a  coloured  parasol,  and  her  husband  wore  a  silk 
bat  and  a  bright-coloured  foppish  overcoat.  In  front, 
opposite  them,  sat  their  children  :  a  little  girl,  dressed  up 
and  shining  like  a  flower,  with  loosely  hanging  blond  hair, 
also  with  a  bright-coloured  parasol,  and  an  eight-year-old 
boy  with  a  long,  thin  neck  and  protruding  shoulder-bones  ; 
he  wore  a  sailor  hat,  adorned  with  ribbons.  The  father 
angrily  upbraided  the  coachman  for  not  having  passed  in 
time  ahead  of  the  procession,  while  the  mother  finically 
blinked  and  frowned,  shielding  herself  against  the  sun 
and  dust  with  her  silk  parasol,  which  she  put  close  to 
her  face.  The  broad-backed  coachman  scowled  angrily, 
listening  to  the  unjust  accusation  of  his  master,  who  had 
himself  ordered  him  to  drive  by  that  street,  and  with 
difficulty  restrained  the  glossy  black  stalhons,  lathered  at 
their  bits  and  necks,  that  were  eager  to  start.  A  pohce- 
man  was  very  anxious  to  serve  the  owner  of  the  elegant 
carriage  and  to  let  him  pass,  by  stopping  the  prisoners, 
but  he  felt  that  in  this  procession  there  was  a  gloomy 
solemnity,  which  could  not  be  violated  even  for  that  rich 
gentleman.     He  only  saluted,  in  sign  of  his  respect  for 


484  RESUKRECTION 

wealth,  and  sternly  looked  at  the  prisoners,  as  though 
promising  under  all  conditions  to  protect  the  persons  in 
the  carriage  from  them. 

Thus,  the  carriage  was  compelled  to  wait  for  the  pass- 
ing of  the  whole  procession,  and  it  went  on  only  when  the 
last  dray  with  the  bags  and  prisoners  upon  it  had  gone 
by ;  the  hysterical  woman,  who  was  sitting  upon  the 
wagon,  and  who  had  quieted  down,  at  the  sight  of  the 
elegant  carriage  again  burst  out  into  tears  and  sobs. 
Only  then  the  coachman  hghtly  touched  his  reins,  and 
the  black  chargers,  tinkling  with  their  hoofs  on  the  pave- 
ment, whisked  off  the  softly  swaying  carriage,  with  its 
rubber  tires,  into  the  country,  whither  the  gentleman,  and 
his  wife,  his  girl,  and  the  boy  with  the  thin  neck  and  pro- 
truding shoulder-bones  were  driving  for  an  outing. 

Neither  the  father  nor  the  mother  gave  their  children 
an  explanation  of  what  they  saw ;  thus  the  children  were 
compelled  to  solve  for  themselves  the  question  what  this 
spectacle  meant. 

The  girl,  taking  into  consideration  the  expression  of 
her  parents'  faces,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  these  were 
very  different  people  from  what  her  parents  and  acquaint- 
ances were ;  that  they  were  bad  people,  and  that,  conse- 
quently, they  had  to  be  treated  as  they  were.  Therefore 
the  girl  felt  terribly,  and  was  glad  when  she  no  longer 
saw  them. 

But  the  boy  vdth  the  long,  thin  neck,  who  did  not  take 
his  eyes  off  the  prisoners,  as  long  as  the  procession  went 
by,  found  a  different  answer  to  this  question.  He  knew 
firmly  and  beyond  any  doubt,  having  learned  it  directly 
from  God,  that  they  were  just  such  people  as  he  himself 
and  all  other  people  were,  and  that,  consequently,  some- 
thing very  bad  had  been  done  to  them,  something  that 
ought  not  to  have  been  done  to  them,  and  he  was  sorry 
for  them  and  experienced  terror  both  before  the  people 
who  were  fettered  and  shaven,  and  before  those  who  had 


RESURRECTION  485 

fettered  and  shaved  them.  And  so  the  boy's  lips  kept 
swelling  more  and  more,  and  he  made  great  efforts  to 
keep  from  crying,  assuming  that  it  was  shameful  to  weep 
under  such  circumstances. 


XXXVI. 

Nekhlyudov  walked  with  as  rapid  a  gait  as  the 
prisoners,  but  even  though  he  was  hghtly  clad,  and  wearing 
a  light  overcoat,  he  felt  dreadfully  hot,  and  oppressed  by 
the  dust  and  motionless  sultry  air  in  the  streets.  Having 
walked  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile,  he  seated  himself  in  the 
vehicle  and  drove  ahead,  but  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
in  the  cab,  he  felt  even  warmer.  He  tried  to  recall  his 
thoughts  about  his  last  conversation  with  his  brother-in- 
law,  but  now  they  no  longer  agitated  him  as  they  had 
in  the  morning.  They  were  overshadowed  by  the  impres- 
sions of  the  start  from  the  prison  and  the  procession  of 
the  prisoners.  Above  everything  else,  it  was  oppressively 
hot.  At  a  fence,  in  the  shade  of  trees,  two  students  of 
the  Eeal  Gymnasium  were  standing  with  their  caps  off, 
before  a  squatting  ice-cream  seller.  One  of  the  boys  was 
already  enjoying  the  feast,  licking  off  the  bone  spoon, 
while  the  other  was  waiting  for  the  glass  to  be  filled  to 
the  top  with  something  yellow. 

"  I  wonder  where  I  can  get  a  drink  here  ?  "  Nekhlyudov 
asked  the  cabman,  being  overcome  by  irrepressible  thirst. 

"  There  is  a  good  inn  not  far  from  here ! "  said  the 
driver,  'and,  turning  around  the  corner,  he  took  Nekh- 
lyudov to  a  building  with  a  large  sign.  A  puffy  clerk  in 
a  shirt,  who  was  standing  back  of  the  counter,  and 
waiters,  who  had  once  looked  clean  and  white  and  who 
were  now  sitting  at  the  tables,  as  there  were  no  guests 
present,  looked  with  curiosity  at  the  unusual  guest  and 
offered  their  services  to  him.  Nekhlyudov  asked  for 
seltzer  water,  and  sat  down  a  distance  away  from  the 

486 


RESURRECTION  487 

window,  at  a  small  table  with  a  dirty  cloth.  Two  men 
were  sitting  at  a  table,  on  which  stood  a  tea  service  and 
a  bottle  of  white  glass.  They  kept  wiping  off  the  perspi- 
ration from  their  brows,  and  figuring  at  something  in  a 
peaceable  manner.  One  of  these  was  swarthy  and  bald- 
headed,  with  just  such  a  border  of  black  hair  on  the  back 
of  his  head  as  Ignati  Nikiforovich  had.  This  impression 
again  reminded  Nekhlyiidov  of  his  conversation  with  his 
brother-in-law  on  the  previous  day,  and  of  his  desire  to 
see  him  and  his  sister  before  his  departure.  "  I  shall 
hardly  have  enough  time  before  the  train  leaves,"  he 
thought.  "  I  had  better  write  her  a  letter."  He  asked 
for  paper  and  an  envelope,  and  a  stamp,  and,  sipping  the 
fresh,  effervescent  water,  was  thinking  what  to  write.  But 
his  thoughts  were  distracted,  and  he  was  unable  to  com- 
pose the  letter. 

"  Dear  Natalya,  —  I  cannot  leave  under  the  heavy 
impression  of  yesterday's  conversation  with  Ignati  Niki- 
forovich," he  began.  ."  What  next?  Shall  I  ask  forgive- 
ness for  what  I  said  yesterday  ?  But  I  said  what  I 
thought.  And  he  will  imagine  that  I  recant.  No,  I  can- 
not —  "  and,  feeling  again  a  rising  hatred  for  this,  to 
him,  strange,  self-confident  man,  who  did  not  understand 
him,  Nekhlyildov  put  the  unfinished  letter  in  his  pocket 
and,  paying  for  what  he  had  used,  went  out  into  the 
street,  and  told  the  driver  to  catch  up  with  the  party. 

The  heat  had  become  even  more  intense.  The  walls 
and  stones  seemed  to  exhale  hot  air.  The  feet  burnt 
against  the  heated  pavement,  and  Nekhlyudov  felt  as 
though  he  burnt  his  hand  when  he  put  it  to  the  lacquered 
wing  of  the  vehicle. 

The  horse  dragged  himself  along  the  streets  in  an  in- 
different amble,  evenly  striking  the  dusty  and  uneven 
pavement  with  his  hoofs ;  the  cabman  kept  dozing  off ; 
Nekhlyudov  sat,  thinking  of  nothing  in  particular  and 
looking  indifferently  in  front  of  him.     At  a  turn  of  the 


488  RESURRECTION 

street,  opposite  the  gate  of  a  large  house,  stood  a  throng 
of  people  aud  a  soldier  of  the  guard  with  his  gun. 

Nekhlyudov  stopped  the  cab. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  asked  a  janitor. 

"  Something  the  matter  with  a  prisoner." 

Nekhlyvidov  left  the  vehicle  and  walked  up  to  the 
crowd.  On  the  uneven  stones  of  the  inclined  pavement, 
near  the  sidewalk,  lay,  with  his  head  lower  than  his  feet, 
a  broad-shouldered,  middle-aged  prisoner,  with  a  red  beard, 
red  face,  and  flat  nose,  in  a  gray  cloak  and  gray  trousers. 
He  lay  on  his  back,  stretching  out  his  freckled  hands, 
with  their  palms  down,  and  at  long  intervals  evenly 
heaved  his  broad,  high  chest  aud  sobbed,  looking  at  the 
sky  with  his  stariug,  bloodshot  eyes.  Over  him  stood  a 
frowning  policeman,  a  peddler,  a  letter-carrier,  a  clerk,  an 
old  woman  with  a  parasol,  and  a  short-haired  boy  with  an 
empty  basket. 

"  He  has  grown  weak  sitting  in  jail,  quite  feeble, —  and 
they  take  him  through  a  very  hell,"  the  clerk  condemned 
somebody,  turning  to  Nekhlyudov,  who  had  stepped  up. 

"He  will,  no  doubt,  die,"  said  the  woman  with  the 
parasol,  in  a  tearful  voice. 

"  You  ought  to  untie  his  shirt,"  said  the  letter-carrier. 

The  policeman  began  with  trembling,  stout  fingers 
awkwardly  to  loosen  the  tape  on  his  venous,  red  neck. 
He  was  apparently  agitated  and  embarrassed,  but,  never- 
theless, he  deemed  it  necessary  to  address  the  crowd. 

"  Why  have  you  gathered  there  ?  It  is  hot  enough 
even  without  you.     You  are  cutting  off  the  breeze." 

"  The  doctor  ought  to  inspect  the  weak  and  keep  them 
back.  Instead,  they  have  taken  a  man  who  is  half-dead," 
said  the  clerk,  evidently  displaying  his  knowledge  of  the 
law.  Having  untied  the  tape  of  the  shirt,  the  policeman 
straightened  himself  up  and  looked  about  him. 

"  Step  aside,  I  say.  It  is  none  of  your  business.  What 
is  there  to  be  seen  here  ?  "  he  said,  turning  with  a  glance 


RESURRECTION  489 

of  compassion  to  Nekhlyudov,  but  not  getting  any  sym- 
pathy from  him,  he  looked  at  the  soldier  of  the  guard. 
But  the  soldier  was  standing  to  one  side,  and,  examining 
the  worn-off  heel  of  his  boot,  was  quite  indifferent  to  the 
trouble  the  policeman  was  in. 

"  People  who  know  better  don't  take  the  proper  trouble. 
Is  it  right  to  kill  a  man  that  way  ? " 

"  A  prisoner  is  a  prisoner,  but  still  he  is  a  man,"  some- 
body remarked  in  the  crowd. 

"  Put  his  head  higher,  and  give  him  some  water,"  said 
Nek  hly  lido  V. 

"  They  have  gone  to  bring  some,"  said  the  policeman, 
and,  taking  the  prisoner  under  his  arms,  with  difficulty 
raised  his  body. 

"  What  is  this  gathering  for  ? "  suddenly  was  heard  a 
commanding  voice,  and  to  the  crowd  collected  around  the 
prisoner  strode  with  rapid  steps  a  sergeant  of  police,  in  an 
exceedingly  clean  and  shining  blouse  and  even  more  shin- 
ing long  boots. 

"  Move  on  !  You  have  no  business  standing  here  !  "  he 
cried  to  the  crowd,  before  he  knew  what  they  were  doing 
there.  When  he  came  close  and  saw  the  dying  prisoner, 
he  nodded  his  head  approvingly  as  though  he  had  ex- 
pected that  very  thing,  and  turned  to  the  policeman. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

The  policeman  informed  him  that  a  party  of  prisoners 
had  walked  past,  and  that  he  had  fallen  down,  and  the 
officer  of  the  guard  left  him  there. 

"  Well,  take  him  to  the  station.     Get  a  cab !  " 

"  A  janitor  has  run  to  fetch  one,"  said  the  policeman, 
saluting. 

The  clerk  began  to  say  something  about  the  heat. 

"  That  is  not  your  business,  is  it  ?  Walk  along,"  ex- 
claimed the  sergeant,  looking  so  sternly  at  the  clerk  that 
he  grew  silent. 

"  You  ought  to  give  him  some  water  to  drink,"  said 


490  RESURRECTION 

Nekhlyudov.  The  sergeant  looked  as  sternly  at  Nekhlyu- 
dov,  without  saying  anything.  When  a  janitor  brought 
some  water  in  a  cup,  he  ordered  the  policeman  to  give  it 
to  the  prisoner.  The  policeman  raised  the  man's  listless 
head,  and  tried  to  pour  the  water  into  his  mouth,  but  the 
prisoner  would  not  take  it ;  the  water  streamed  down  his 
beard,  wetting  the  blouse  and  the  dusty  hempen  shirt  on 
his  chest, 

"  Pour  it  out  on  his  head !  "  commanded  the  sergeant, 
and  the  pohcemau  took  off  liis  pancake-shaped  cap,  and 
poured  out  the  water  on  his  red  curly  hair  and  bare  skull. 
The  prisoner's  eyes  opened  wide,  as  though  frightened, 
but  the  position  of  his  body  did  not  change.  Down  his 
face  trickled  dirty  streams,  but  the  same  sobs  escaped 
from  his  mouth,  and  his  body  kept  jerking  convulsively. 

"What  about  this  one?  Take  it,"  the  sergeant  ad- 
dressed the  policeman,  pointing  to  Nekhlyudov's  cab. 
"  Ho  there,  come  along  !  " 

"  I  am  hired,"  gloomily  said  the  driver,  without  raising 
his  eyes. 

"This  is  my  cab,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  "but  you  may 
take  it.  I  shall  pay  for  it,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
driver, 

"  Don't  stand  here  !  "  cried  the  sergeant.     "  Move  on  ! " 

The  pohceman,  some  janitors,  and  the  soldier  raised 
the  dying  man,  carried  him  to  the  vehicle,  and  placed  him 
on  the  seat.  He  could  not  hold  himself ;  his  head  fell 
back,  and  his  body  slipped  off  the  seat. 

"  Lay  him  down,"  commanded  the  sergeant. 

"  Never  mind,  your  Honour.  I  will  take  him  down," 
said  the  policeman,  firmly  seating  liimself  at  the  side  of 
the  dying  man  and  putting  his  strong  right  hand  under 
his  arm. 

The  soldier  lifted  his  feet,  which  were  clad  in  prison 
slioes  without  leg-rags,  and  straightened  them  out  under 
the  box. 


RESUKRECTION  491 

The  sergeant  looked  about  him,  and,  noticing  on  the 
pavement  the  prisoner's  pancake-shaped  cap,  lifted  it  and 
put  it  on  his  dirty,  flabbily  hanging  head.  "  March  ! "  he 
commanded. 

The  cabman  looked  back  angrily,  shook  his  head,  and, 
accompanied  by  the  soldier,  slowly  moved  toward  the 
police  station.  The  policeman,  who  was  sitting  with 
the  prisoner,  kept  adjusting  the  shpping  body,  with  its 
head  shaking  in  all  directions.  The  soldier,  who  was 
walking  near  by,  stuck  the  feet  back  under  the  box. 
Nekhlyudov  walked  behind  him. 


XXXVII. 

Passing  by  a  sentry  of  the  fire-brigade,  the  cab  with 
the  prisoner  drove  into  the  yard  of  the  police  station  and 
stopped  before  a  building. 

In  the  yard,  firemen,  with  roUed-up  sleeves,  were  con- 
versing aloud  and  laughing,  while  washing  a  wagon. 
The  moment  the  cab  stopped,  several  policemen  sur- 
rounded it,  took  the  lifeless  body  of  the  prisoner  under 
his  arms  and  by  his  legs,  and  raised  him  from  the  squeak- 
ing vehicle.  The  policeman  who  had  brought  him  jumped 
down  from  the  cab,  waved  his  stiffened  arm,  doffed  his 
cap,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  The  dead  man  was 
carried  through  the  door  up-stairs.  Nekhlyiidov  followed 
them.  In  the  small  dirty  room,  to  which  the  body  was 
carried,  there  were  four  cots.  Two  sick  men  in  cloaks 
were  sitting  on  two  of  them,  —  one,  a  wry-mouthed  fellow 
with  his  neck  wrapped  up,  and  the  other,  a  consumptive 
man.  Two  cots  were  unoccupied.  The  prisoner  was 
placed  on  one  of  these.  A  small  man,  with  sparkling 
eyes  and  continually  moving  brows,  in  nothing  but  his 
underwear  and  stockings,  walked  over  to  the  prisoner 
with  soft,  rapid  steps,  looked  at  him,  then  at  Nekhlyiidov, 
and  burst  out  laughing. 

This  was  an  insane  person  who  was  kept  in  the  wait- 
ing-room. 

"  They  want  to  frighten  me,"  he  said.  "  Only,  they 
won't  succeed." 

Soon  after  the  pohcemen,  who  had  brought  in  the  body, 
came  the  sergeant  and  a  surgeon's  assistant. 

The  assistant  walked  up  to   the  prisoner,  touched  the 

4\)2 


KESUEKECTION  493 

cold,  yellow,  freckled,  still  soft,  but  deathly  pale  hand  of 
the  man,  held  it  awliile,  and  then  dropped  it.  It  fell 
lifelessly  upon  the  dead  man's  abdomen. 

"  He  is  done  with,"  said  the  assistant,  shaking  his 
head,  but,  apparently  to  comply  with  the  rules,  he  pushed 
aside  the  wet,  coarse  shirt  of  the  dead  man,  and,  brushing 
his  curly  hair  away  from  his  ear,  leaned  over  the  pris- 
oner's yellowish,  immovable,  high  breast.  Everybody 
was  silent.  The  assistant  arose,  again  shook  his  head, 
and  put  his  finger,  now  on  one,  now  on  the  other  lid  of  the 
open  and  staring  blue  eyes. 

"  You  will  not  frighten  me,  you  will  not  frighten  me," 
said  the  insane  man,  all  the  time  spitting  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  assistant. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  sergeant. 

"  Well  ?  "  repeated  the  assistant.  "  He  ought  to  be 
taken  to  the  dead-house." 

"  Be  sure  it  is  so  ! "  said  the  sergeant. 

"  It  is  time  I  should  know,"  said  the  assistant,  for 
some  reason  covering  the  dead  man's  open  breast.  "  I 
shall  send  for  Matvyey  Ivanych,  and  let  him  take  a  look. 
Petrdv,  go  for  him,"  said  the  assistant,  walking  away 
from  the  body. 

"  Carry  him  to  the  dead-house,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"  You  come  to  the  chancery,  and  sign  a  receipt,"  he  added 
to  the  soldier  of  the  guard,  who  aU  this  time  stuck 
closely  to  the  prisoner. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  soldier. 

The  policemen  lifted  the  dead  man  and  carried  him 
down-stairs.  Nekhlyudov  wanted  to  follow  them,  but 
the  insane  person  stopped  him. 

"  You  are  not  in  the  conspiracy,  so  give  me  a  ciga- 
rette," he  said.  Nekhlyiidov  took  out  his  cigarette-holder, 
and  gave  him  one.  The  insane  man,  moving  his  eye- 
brows, began  to  speak  rapidly  and  to  tell  him  that  they 
tortured  him  with  suggestions. 


494  EESUKRECTION 

"  They  are  all  against  me,  and  they  torment  me  through 
their  mediums  —  " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  and,  without  waiting 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  went  out.  He  wanted  to 
know  whither  they  would  take  the  body. 

The  policemen  had  already  crossed  the  yard  with  their 
burden,  and  were  about  to  walk  down  into  a  basement. 
Nekhlyudov  wanted  to  walk  up  to  them,  but  the  sergeant 
stopped  him. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  If  nothing,  step  aside." 

Nekhlyudov  obeyed  and  went  back  to  his  cab.  The 
driver  was  dozing.  Nekhlyudov  woke  him,  and  again 
started  for  the  railway  station. 

He  had  not  gone  one  hundred  steps,  when  he  came  to 
a  dray  accompanied  by  a  soldier  with  his  gun,  on  which 
another  prisoner,  apparently  dead,  was  lying.  The  pris- 
oner was  on  his  back,  and  his  shaven  head,  with  its  black 
beard,  covered  by  the  pancake-shaped  cap,  which  had 
slipped  down  to  his  nose,  shook  and  tossed  at  every  jolt  of 
the  wagon.  The  drayman,  in  stout  boots,  guided  the  horse, 
walking  at  its  side.  Back  of  the  wagon  walked  a  police- 
man.    Nekhlyudov  touched  his  driver's  shoulder. 

"Terrible  things  they  are  doing!"  said  the  driver, 
stopping  his  horse. 

Nekhlyudov  climbed  down  from  his  vehicle,  and  fol- 
lowed the  dray,  again  past  the  sentry  of  the  fire-brigade, 
to  the  yard  of  the  police  station.  The  firemen  had 
finished  washing  the  wagon,  and  in  their  place  stood  a 
tall,  bony  fire-captain,  in  a  visorless  cap.  He  stuck  his 
hands  in  his  pocket  and  was  sternly  looking  at  a  fat, 
stout-necked  dun  stalhon,  which  a  fireman  was  leading 
up  and  down  in  front  of  him.  He  was  lame  on  his  fore 
leg,  and  the  fire-captain  was  angrily  saying  something  to 
the  veterinary  surgeon,  who  was  standing  near  him. 


RESUERECTION  495 

The  sergeant  of  police  was  there,  too.  Upon  noticing 
another  dead  man,  he  walked  over  to  the  dray. 

"  Where  did  you  pick  him  up  ? "  he  asked,  disapprov- 
ingly shaking  his  head. 

"  On  the  Old  Gorbatovskaya,"  answered  the  policeman. 

"  A  prisoner  ?  "  asked  the  fire-captain. 

"  Yes,  sir.  This  is  the  second  to-day,"  said  the  sergeant 
of  pohce. 

"  A  fine  way  !  And  the  heat ! "  said  the  fire-captain, 
and,  turning  to  the  fireman,  who  was  leading  away  the 
lame  dun  stalhon,  he  cried  :  "  Put  him  in  the  corner  stall ! 
I  will  teach  you,  son  of  a  dog,  how  to  maim  horses  that 
are  worth  more  than  you  are,  you  rascal ! " 

The  policemen  lifted  the  body,  just  as  they  had  the  one 
before,  and  carried  it  to  the  waiting-room.  Nekhlyudov 
followed  them,  as  though  hypnotized. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  one  of  the  policemen  asked 
him.  * 

He  went,  without  answering,  to  the  place  where  they 
were  carrying  the  dead  man. 

The  insane  man  was  sitting  on  a  cot,  eagerly  smoking 
the  cigarette  which  Nekhlyudov  had  given  him. 

"  Ah,  you  have  come  back,"  he  said,  laughing  out  loud. 
Upon  seeing  the  dead  man,  he  scowled.  "  Again,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  tired  of  them.  I  am  not  a  boy,  am  I  ?  " 
he  turned  to  Nekhlyudov,  with  a  questioning  smile. 

Nekhlyudov  was,  in  the  meantime,  looking  at  the  dead 
man,  around  whom  nobody  was  standing,  and  whose  face, 
covered  by  the  cap  before,  was  now  plainly  visible.  As 
the  first  prisoner  had  been  ugly,  so  this  one  was  unusually 
handsome  in  body  and  face.  He  was  a  man  in  the  full 
bloom  of  his  strength.  In  spite  of  the  disfigured,  half- 
shaven  head,  the  low,  abrupt  forehead,  with  elevations 
above  the  black,  now  lifeless  eyes,  was  very  beautiful,  and 
so  was  the  small,  slightly  curved  nose  above  the  thin, 
black  moustache.     The  hvid  lips  were  drawn  back  into  a 


496  RESURRECTION 

smile ;  a  small  beard  fringed  only  the  lower  part  of  the 
face,  and  on  the  shaven  side  of  the  skull  could  be  seen  a 
small,  firm,  and  handsome  ear. 

The  face  had  a  calm,  severe,  and  good  expression.  Let 
alone  the  fact  that  it  was  evident  from  his  face  what  pos- 
sibilities of  spiritual  life  had  been  lost  in  this  man,  one 
could  see,  by  the  strong  muscles  of  his  well-proportioned 
limbs,  what  a  handsome,  strong,  agile  human  animal  he 
had  been,  —  in  its  way  a  much  more  perfect  animal  than 
that  dun  stalhon,  whose  lameness  so  angered  the  fire- 
captain.  And  yet,  he  died,  and  no  one  pitied  him,  neither 
as  a  man,  nor  even  as  an  unfortunately  ruined  beast  of 
burden.  The  only  feeling  which  had  been  evoked  in 
people  by  his  death  was  the  feeling  of  annoyance  caused 
by  the  necessity  of  disposing  of  this  rapidly  decaying  body. 

The  doctor,  the  assistant,  and  a  captain  of  police  entered 
the  waiting-room.  The  doctor  was  a  thick-set,  stocky 
man,  in  a  China  silk  frock  coat,  and  narrow  pantaloons 
of  the  same  material,  that  fitted  closely  over  his  mus- 
cular loins.  The  captain  was  a  stout  little  man,  with  a 
globe-shaped  red  face,  which  grew  rounder  still  from  his 
habit  of  filling  his  cheeks  with  air  and  slowly  emitting  it. 
The  doctor  sat  down  on  the  cot  on  which  the  dead  man 
lay,  and,  just  as  the  assistant  had  done,  he  touched  the 
hands,  listened  for  the  heart-beat,  and  arose,  adjusting  his 
pantaloons. 

"  They  are  never  deader,"  he  said. 

The  captain  filled  his  cheeks  with  air  and  slowly 
emitted  it. 

"  From  what  prison  ? "  he  turned  to  the  soldier. 

The  soldier  answered  him,  and  reminded  him  of  the 
fetters,  which  were  on  the  dead  man. 

"  I  shall  order  them  to  be  taken  off.  Thank  the  Lord 
there  are  blacksmiths,"  said  the  captain,  and,  again  puffing 
up  his  cheeks,  he  went  to  the  door,  slowly  letting  out 
the  air. 


RESURRECTION  497 

"  Why  is  this  so  ? "  Nekhlyiidov  turned  to  the  doctor. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  above  his  spectacles. 

"  Why  is  what  so  ?  Why  do  they  die  from  sunstroke  ? 
It  is  like  this :  they  are  locked  up  all  winter,  without 
motion  or  light,  and  suddenly  they  are  let  out  in  the  sun, 
and  on  such  a  day  as  this ;  then  they  walk  in  such 
crowds,  where  there  is  no  breeze.  And  the  result  of  it  is 
a  sunstroke." 

"  Why,  then,  do  they  send  them  out  ? " 

"  You  ask  them  !     But  who  are  you,  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  private  individual." 

"  Ah  !  —  My  regards  to  you,  I  am  busy,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, and,  angrily  pulling  his  trousers  in  shape,  he  walked 
over  to  the  cots  of  the  patients. 

"  Well,  how  goes  it  with  you  ? "  he  turned  to  the  wry- 
mouthed,  pale  man,  with  neck  all  wrapped  up. 

The  insane  man,  in  the  meantime,  was  sitting  on  his 
cot  and  spitting  in  the  direction  of  the  doctor,  after  he  got 
through  with  his  cigarette. 

Nekhlyiidov  went  out  into  the  yard,  and,  past  the  fire- 
brigade's  horses  and  chickens,  and  the  sentry  in  a  brass 
helmet,  walked  through  the  gate,  where  he  seated  himself 
in  his  cab,  the  driver  of  which  was  again  asleep,  and  had 
himself  driven  to  the  railway  station. 


XXXVIII 

When  Nekhlyudov  reached  the  station,  the  prisoners 
were  ah-eady  sitting  in  cars,  behind  grated  windows.  On 
the  platform  stood  a  number  of  men  who  were  seeing 
off  the  prisoners:  the  soldiers  of  the  guard  did  not  let 
him  walk  up  to  the  cars.  The  officers  of  the  guard  were 
very  much  disturbed.  On  the  way  to  the  station  there 
had  died  from  sunstroke  three  men  besides  the  two  which 
Nekhlyiidov  had  seen :  one  of  these  had  been  taken  to 
the  nearest  police  station,  like  the  other  two,  while  two 
more  fell  at  the  station.^  The  officers  of  the  guard  were 
not  concerned  about  the  five  men  which  they  had  lost, 
and  who  might  have  lived.  This  did  not  interest  them. 
They  were  interested  only  in  executing  all  that  the  law 
demanded  of  them  under  these  circumstances  :  to  deliver 
the  dead  persons  and  their  papers  and  things  where  it  was 
necessary,  and  to  exclude  them  from  the  count  of  those 
who  were  to  be  taken  to  Nizhni-Novgorod,  —  and  this  was 
quite  troublesome,  especially  in  such  hot  weather. 

It  was  this  which  gave  the  men  of  the  guard  so  much 
trouble,  and  it  was  for  this  reason  that  neither  Nekh- 
lyiidov, nor  the  others,  were  permitted  to  walk  up  to  the 
cars.  Nekhlyiidov,  however,  was  permitted  to  go  up, 
because  he  bribed  an  under-officer  of  the  guard.  The 
under-officer  let  Nekhlyiidov  pass,  and  only  asked  him  to 

1  In  the  beginning  of  the  eiglities  five  prisoners  died  in  one  day 
from  the  effects  of  sunstroke,  while  being  taken  from  the  But.frski 
Prison  to  the  Station   of  the  Nfzhni-N6vgorod  railway.  —  Authofa 

498 


RESURRECTION  499 

say  what  he  wished  to  say  and  walk  away  as  soon  as 
possible,  so  that  the  superior  officer  should  not  see  him. 

There  were  eighteen  cars  in  all,  and  all  of  them,  except 
the  car  of  the  officers,  were  filled  to  suffocation  with 
prisoners. 

Passing  by  the  windows  of  the  cars,  Nekhlyudov  Hs- 
tened  to  what  was  going  on  within.  In  all  of  them  could 
be  heard  the  clanking  of  chains,  bustle,  and  conversation, 
mixed  with  senseless  profanity,  but  nowhere  was  a  word 
said  about  the  sunstruck  companions,  which  was  what 
Nekhlyudov  had  expected  to  hear.  They  were  talking 
mainly  about  their  bags,  about  water  to  drink,  and  about 
the  choice  of  a  seat. 

Upon  looking  inside  one  window,  Nekhlyudov  saw  in 
the  middle  of  the  car,  in  the  passageway,  some  soldiers 
who  were  taking  off  the  handcuffs  from  the  prisoners. 
The  prisoners  extended  their  hands,  and  a  soldier  opened 
the  manacles  with  a  key,  and  took  them  off.  Another 
gathered  them  up. 

Having  walked  along  the  whole  train,  Nekhlyudov 
walked  up  to  the  women's  car.  In  the  second  one  of 
these,  he  heard  the  even  groans  of  a  woman,  interrupted 
by  exclamations,  "  Oh,  oh,  oh !  Help  me  !  Oh,  oh,  oh ! 
Help  me ! " 

Nekhlyudov  went  past  it,  and,  following  the  indica- 
tion of  a  soldier,  went  up  to  a  third  car.  As  Nekhlyudov 
put  his  head  to  the  window,  he  was  stifled  by  a  hot 
breath,  saturated  with  a  dense  odour  of  human  exhala- 
tions, and  he  could  clearly  hear  squeaking  feminine  voices. 
Perspiring  women,  red  in  their  faces,  were  sitting  on  all 
the  benches,  dressed  in  cloaks  and  jackets,  and  chattering 
away.  Nekhlyiidov's  face  at  the  grated  window  attracted 
their  attention.  Those  that  were  nearest  grew  silent  and 
moved  up  to  him.  Maslova,  in  her  bodice  only  and  with- 
out a  kerchief,  was  seated  at  the  opposite  window.  Near- 
est to  him  sat  white,  smiling  Fedosya. 


600  RESUKRECTION 

Upon  recognizing  Nekhlyiidov,  she  nudged  Maslova 
and  indicated  the  window  to  her. 

Maslova  arose  hurriedly,  threw  the  kerchief  over  her 
black  hair,  and  with  an  animated,  red,  perspiring,  smiling 
face  went  up  to  the  window  and  held  on  to  the  iron  bars. 

"  It  is  hot,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of  delight. 

"  Did  you  get  the  things  ? " 

"  I  did,  thank  you." 

"  Do  you  need  anything,"  asked  Nekhlyudov,  feeling  as 
though  the  car  were  heated  inside  like  a  bathroom  oven. 
.    "  Thank  you,  nothing." 

"  If  we  could  only  get  a  drink,"  said  Fedosya. 

"  Yes,  a  drink,"  repeated  Maslova. 

"  Have  you  no  water  there  ? " 

"  They  have  put  in  some,  but  it  has  all  been  used  up." 

"  Directly,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  "  I  will  ask  a  soldier. 
We  sha'n't  see  each  other  before  Nizhni-Novgorod." 

"  Are  you  going  there  ? "  said  Maslova,  as  though  not 
knowing  it,  and  casting  a  joyful  glance  at  Nekhlyudov. 

"  I  go  with  the  next  train." 

Maslova  said  nothing,  and  only  a  few  seconds  later 
drew  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Tell  me,  sir,  is  it  true  that  they  have  killed  twelve 
prisoners  ? "  said  an  old,  rough  woman,  in  a  coarse  man's 
voice. 

This  was  Korabl^va. 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  twelve.  I  saw  two/'  said  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  They  say,  twelve.  Won't  they  be  punished  for  it  ? 
They  are  devils." 

"  Did  none  of  the  women  get  ill  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  The  women  are  tougher,"  said  another,  an  undersized 
prisoner,  smiling.  "  Only  one  has  taken  it  into  her  head 
to  have  a  baby.  You  hear  her  moan,"  she  said,  point- 
ing to  the  next  car,  from  which  the  groans  were  still 
proceeding. 


KESURRECTION  501 

"  You  ask  me  whether  I  do  not  want  something  ? "  said 
Maslova,  trying  to  keep  her  lips  from  a  smile  of  joy. 
"  Can't  tliis  woman  be  kept  here  ?  She  is  suffering  so 
much.     Can't  you  tell  the  authorities  ? " 

«  Yes,  I  will." 

"Another  thing.  Could  she  not  see  Taras,  her  hus- 
band ? "  she  added,  indicating  smiling  Fedosya  with  her 
eyes.     "  I  understand  he  is  travelling  with  you." 

"  Mister,  no  talking  allowed,"  was  heard  the  voice  of 
an  under-officer  of  the  guard. 

This  was  not  the  one  who  had  given  Nekhlyildov  the 
permission.  Nekhlyudov  stepped  aside  and  went  to  find 
the  officer,  in  order  to  intercede  for  the  lying-in  woman 
and  for  Taras,  but  he  could  not  find  him  for  a  long  time, 
nor  could  he  get  any  answer  out  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
guard.  They  were  in  a  great  turmoil :  some  were  taking 
a  prisoner  somewhere  ;  others  were  running  to  buy  pro- 
visions for  themselves,  or  placing  their  things  in  the  cars ; 
others  again  were  attending  to  a  lady  who  was  travelling 
with  the  officer  of  the  guard.  They  all  answered  un- 
willingly to  Nekhlyiidov's  questions. 

Nekhlyudov  saw  the  guard  officer  after  the  second  bell. 

The  officer,  wiping  with  his  short  hand  his  moustache, 
which  concealed  his  mouth,  and  raising  his  shoulder,  was 
reproaching  the  sergeant  for  something. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  There  is  a  woman  who  is  in  labour  pains  in  the  car, 
so  I  thought  she  ought  to  —  " 

"  Let  her  be.  We  shall  see  then,"  said  the  officer, 
walking  to  his  car,  and  briskly  swinging  his  short  arms. 

Just  then  the  conductor,  with  the  whistle  in  his  hand, 
passed  by.  The  last  bell  was  rung,  the  whistle  blown, 
and  among  those  who  were  waiting  on  the  platform  and 
in  the  women's  car  were  heard  weeping  and  lamentations. 
Nekhlyudov  was  standing  with  Taras  on  the  platform, 
and  watching  the  cars  with  the  grated  windows,  and  the 


602  KESURRECTION 

shaven  heads  of  men  behind  them,  pass  one  after  another. 
Then  the  first  woman's  car  came  abreast  of  them,  and 
in  the  window  were  seen  the  heads  of  several  women  in 
kerchiefs  and  without  them ;  then  the  second  car,  in 
which  Maslova  was.  She  was  standing  at  the  window 
with  others  and  looking  at  Nekhlyiidov,  with  a  pitiable 
smile  on  her  face. 


XXXIX. 

There  were  two  hours  left  before  the  passenger  train, 
on  which  Nekhlyiidov  was  to  travel,  would  start.  At 
first  he  had  intended  to  drive  down  in  the  meantime  to 
his  sister's,  but  now,  under  the  impressions  of  the  morning, 
he  felt  so  agitated  and  crushed  that,  upon  sitting  down 
on  a  sofa  in  the  waiting-room  of  the  first  class,  he  was 
suddenly  so  overcome  by  sleepiness  that  he  turned  on  his 
side,  put  his  hand  under  his  cheek,  and  immediately  fell 
asleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  a  waiter  in  a  dress  coat,  holding 
a  napkin. 

"  Mister,  mister,  are  you  not  Prince  Nekhlyiidov  ?  A 
lady  is  looking  for  you." 

Nekhlyiidov  jumped  up,  and,  rubbing  his  eyes,  recalled 
where  he  was  and  all  that  had  happened  on  that  morning. 

In  his  recollection  were  the  procession  of  the  prisoners, 
the  dead  men,  the  cars  with  the  grated  windows,  and  the 
women  shut  up  inside,  of  whom  one  was  in  the  agony  of 
lal)our,  without  receiving  any  aid,  and  another  pitiably 
smiled  from  behind  the  iron  bars. 

In  reality  there  was  something  entirely  different  in 
front  of  him :  a  table,  covered  with  bottles,  vases,  can- 
delabra, and  dishes,  and  agile  waiters  bustling  near  it. 
In  the  back  of  the  hall,  in  front  of  a  safe,  and  behind 
some  vases  filled  with  fruit  and  behind  bottles  were  the 
buffet-keeper  and  the  backs  of  travellers  at  the  counter. 

Just  as  Nekhlyiidov  was  changing  his  lying  position 
for  a  sitting  one,  and  slowly  coming  to,  he  noticed  that 
those  who  were  in  the  room  were  looking  with  curiosity 

503 


504  RESURRECTION 

at  something  that  was  taking  place  at  the  door.  He 
looked  in  that  direction,  and  saw  a  procession  of  people 
carrying  a  lady  in  a  chair,  her  head  being  loosely  covered 
with  a  shawl.  The  front  bearer  was  a  lackey  and  seemed 
familiar  to  Nekhlyudov.  The  one  in  the  back  was  also  a 
familiar  porter,  with  galloons  on  his  cap.  Back  of  the 
chair  walked  an  elegant  chambermaid,  in  apron  and  curls, 
carrying  a  bundle,  a  round  object  in  a  leather  case,  and 
umbrellas.  Farther  behind  walked  Prince  Korchagin  in 
a  travelling-cap,  displaying  his  thick  Kps  and  apoplectic 
neck,  and  expanding  his  chest ;  after  him  walked  Missy, 
Misha,  a  cousin,  and  diplomatist  Osten,  whom  Nekh- 
lyudov  knew,  with  his  long  neck  and  prominent  Adam's 
apple,  and  an  ever  jolly  expression  on  his  face.  While 
walking,  he  was  proving  something  impressively  and, 
apparently,  jocularly,  to  smihng  Missy.  Behind  them 
came  the  doctor,  angrily  puffing  his  cigarette. 

The  Korchagins  were  moving  from  their  suburban 
estate  to  the  estate  of  the  prince's  sister,  which  was  down 
on  the  Nizhui-Ndvgorod  line. 

The  procession  of  the  bearers,  of  the  chambermaid,  and 
the  doctor  proceeded  to  the  ladies'  room,  evoking  the 
curiosity  and  respect  of  everybody  present.  The  old 
prince  sat  down  at  the  table,  immediately  called  a  lackey, 
and  began  to  order  something  to  eat  and  drink.  Missy 
and  Osten  also  stopped  in  the  dining-room  and  were  on 
the  point  of  sitting  down  when  they  noticed  a  lady 
of  their  acquaintance  in  the  door,  whom  they  went  up 
to  meet.     This  lady  was  Natalya  Ivanovua. 

Natalya  Ivanovna,  accompanied  by  Agraf^na  Petrovna, 
looked  all  around  her,  as  she  entered  the  dining-room. 
She  noticed  Missy  and  her  brother  about  the  same  time. 
She  first  went  up  to  Missy,  nodding  her  head  to  Nekh- 
lyudov.  But,  having  kissed  Missy,  she  at  once  went  up 
to  her  brother. 

"  At  last  I  have  found  you,"  she  said. 


RESURRECTION  505 

Neklilyudov  arose,  greeted  Missy,  Misha,  and  6sten, 
and  stopped  to  talk  to  them.  Missy  told  him  of  the 
fire  on  their  estate  which  compelled  them  to  go  to  her 
aunt's.  Osten  used  this  opportunity  to  tell  a  funny  anec- 
dote about  the  fire. 

Nekhlyildov  was  not  listening  to  Osten,  but  turned  to 
his  sister:  "How  glad  I  am  that  you  have  come,"  he 
said. 

"  I  have  been  quite  awhile  here,"  she  said.  "  Agrafena 
Petr6vna  is  with  me."  She  pointed  to  Agrafi^na  Petrovna, 
who  wore  a  hat  and  a  mackintosh,  and  with  gracious 
dignity  was  bowing  confusedly  to  Nekhlyudov  from  a 
distance,  not  wishing  to  be  in  his  way.  "  We  have  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere." 

"  I  fell  asleep  in  here.  How  glad  I  am  you  have 
come,"  repeated  Nekhlyildov.  "  I  had  begun  to  write  a 
letter  to  you,"  he  said. 

"  Keally  ?  "  she  said,  frightened.     "  About  what  ? " 

Missy  and  the  gentlemen,  noticing  that  an  intimate 
conversation  had  begun  between  brotlier  and  sister, 
walked  aside.  Nekhlyildov  and  his  sister  sat  down 
near  the  window,  on  a  velvet  divan,  near  somebody's 
things,  —  a  plaid  and  paper  boxes. 

"  Yesterday,  after  I  left  you,  I  wanted  to  come  back 
and  express  my  regrets,  but  I  did  not  know  how  he 
would  take  it,"  said  Nekhlyildov.  "  I  did  not  treat  your 
husband  right,  and  this  worried  me,"  he  added. 

"  I  knew,  I  was  convinced,"  said  his  sister,  "  that  you 
did  not  mean  to.  You  know  yourself,"  and  tears  stood  in 
her  eyes,  and  she  touched  his  arm.  The  phrase  was  not 
clear,  but  he  understood  her  quite  well,  and  was  touched 
by  what  she  meant  by  it.  These  words  meant  that  in 
addition  to  her  love  which  had  possession  of  her,  —  lier 
love  for  her  husband,  —  her  love  for  him,  her  brother, 
was  important  and  dear  to  her,  and  that  every  misunder- 
standing with  him  was  a  source  of  great  suftering  to  her. 


506  RESURRECTION 

"Thank,  thank  you.  Ah,  what  I  have  seen  to-day!" 
he  said,  suddenly  recalling  the  second  dead  prisoner. 
"  Two  prisoners  were  killed." 

"  How  do  you  mean  killed  ? " 

"  I  tell  you,  killed.  They  were  taken  out  through  this 
heat.     Two  of  them  died  from  sunstroke." 

"  Impossible  !   What  ?     To-day  ?     A  little  while  ago  ? " 

"  Yes,  a  little  while  ago.     I  saw  their  dead  bodies." 

"  But  why  did  they  kill  them  ?  Who  killed  them  ? " 
said  Natalya  Ivanovna. 

"  Those  killed  them  who  took  them  by  force,"  Nekh- 
lyiidov  said,  with  irritation,  feeling  that  she  looked  even 
at  this  with  the  eyes  of  her  husband. 

"  Ah,  my  God  ! "  said  Agraf^na  Petrovna,  coming  up  to 
them. 

"  Yes,  we  have  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  is  done 
with  these  unfortunates,  and  yet  it  ought  to  be  known," 
added  Nekhlyiidov,  looking  at  the  old  prince,  who,  having 
tied  a  napkin  around  liimself,  was  sitting  at  the  table  at 
a  small  pitcher,  and  at  the  same  time  glancing  at  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

"  Nekhlyiidov  ! "  he  cried.  "  Do  you  want  to  cool 
yourself  off  ?     It  is  good  for  the  journey ! " 

Nekhlyiidov  declined,  and  turned  away. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  proceeded  Natalya 
Ivanovna. 

"  Whatever  I  can.  I  do  not  know,  but  I  feel  that  I 
must  do  something.     And  I  will  do  what  I  can." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  that.  Well,  and  with  these," 
she  said,  smiling  and  indicating  the  Korchagins  with  her 
eyes,  "  is  it  all  absolutely  ended  ? " 

"  Absolutely  so,  and  I  think  that  there  are  no  regrets 
on  either  side." 

"A  pity.  I  am  sorry.  I  love  her.  Granted  it  is  so. 
But  why  do  you  want  to  tie  yourself  ? "  she  added, 
timidly.     "  Why  are  you  leaving  ? " 


EESURRECTION  507 

"  I  am  going  away  because  I  must,"  Nekhlyildov  said, 
dryly  and  seriously,  as  though  wishing  to  interrupt  the 
conversation,  but  he  at  once  felt  ashamed  of  his  coldness 
to  his  sister.  "  Why  can't  I  tell  her  everything  I  think  ? " 
he  thought.  "  Let  Agrafena  Petrdvna  hear  it,  too,"  he  said 
to  himself,  looking  at  the  old  chambermaid.  Agrafena 
Petrovna's  presence  urged  him  on  to  repeat  his  decision  to 
his  sister. 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  my  intention  to  marry  Katyu- 
sha ?  You  see,  I  have  determined  to  do  so,  but  she  has 
definitely  and  firmly  refused  me,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
trembled,  as  it  always  did  whenever  he  thought  of  it. 
"  She  does  not  want  my  sacrifice,  and  herself  sacrifices 
very  much,  for  one  in  her  situation,  but  I  cannot  accept 
that  sacrifice,  if  that  is  but  a  whim.  And  so  I  am  follow- 
ing her  up,  and  will  be  there  where  she  is,  and  will  do 
all  in  my  power  to  help  her  and  to  alleviate  her  lot." 

Natalya  Ivanovna  said  nothing.  Agrafena  Petrovna 
looked  questioningly  at  Natalya  Ivanovna  and  shook  her 
head.  Just  then  the  procession  started  again  from  the 
ladies'  room.  The  same  handsome  lackey,  Filipp,  and 
the  porter  were  carrying  the  princess.  She  stopped  the 
bearers,  beckoned  to  Nekhlyudov  to  come  up  to  her,  and, 
with  an  expression  of  pity  and  pining,  gave  him  her 
white,  ring-bedecked  hand,  in  terror  expecting  a  firm 
pressure. 

"  EpouvantaUe  ! "  she  said  about  the  heat,  "  I  can't 
stand  it.  Ce  cliniat  me  tue."  Having  talked  awhile 
about  the  terrors  of  the  Russian  climate,  and  having 
invited  him  to  visit  them,  she  gave  a  sign  to  the  bearers. 

"  Be  sure  and  come,"  she  added,  turning  her  long  face 
to  him,  while  being  carried  away. 

Nekhlyudov  went  out  on  the  platform.  The  procession 
of  the  princess  turned  to  the  right,  to  the  cars  of  the  first 
class.  Nekhlyudov  with  the  porter,  who  was  carrying 
his  things,  and  with  Taras  with  his  bag,  went  to  the  left. 


508  RESURRECTION 

"  This  is  my  companion,"  Nekhlyudov  said  to  his  sister, 
pointing  to  Taras,  whose  history  he  had  told  her  before. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  will  travel  third  class," 
said  Natalya  Ivanovua,  when  Nekhlyudov  stopped  in 
front  of  a  car  of  the  third  class,  and  the  porter  with 
the  things  and  Taras  entered  it. 

"  It  is  more  comfortable  for  me,  and  Taras  and  I  will 
be  together,"  he  said.  "  By  the  way,"  he  added,  "  I  have 
not  yet  given  the  Kuzmiuskoe  land  to  the  peasants,  so,  in 
case  of  my  death,  your  children  will  inherit  it." 

"  Dmitri,  stop,"  said  Natalya  Ivanovna. 

"  And  if  I  should  give  it  to  them,  I  must  tell  you  that 
everything  else  will  be  theirs,  because  there  is  little 
chance  of  my  marrying,  and  if  I  should,  there  will  be  no 
children  —  so  that  —  " 

"  Dmitri,  please  don't  say  that,"  said  Natalya  Ivanovna, 
but  Nekhlyudov  saw  that  she  was  glad  to  hear  that  which 
he  told  her. 

Ahead,  in  front  of  the  first  class,  stood  a  small  throng 
of  people,  still  looking  at  the  car  into  which  Princess 
Korchagin  had  been  carried.  All  the  other  people  had 
already  taken  their  seats.  Belated  passengers,  hurrying, 
clattered  on  the  boards  of  the  platform ;  the  conductors 
slammed  the  doors  and  asked  the  passengers  to  be  seated 
and  their  friends  to  leave. 

Nekhlyudov  walked  into  a  sunny,  hot,  and  malodorous 
car,  and  immediately  stepped  out  on  the  brake  platform. 
Natalya  Ivanovna  stood  opposite  the  car,  in  her  fashion- 
able hat  and  wrap,  by  the  side  of  Agraf^na  Petrovna,  and 
apparently  was  trying  to  find  a  subject  for  conversation, 
but  was  unable  to  discover  any.  It  was  not  even  possible 
to  say,  "  Ecrivez,"  because  her  brother  and  she  had  long 
ago  been  making  fun  of  this  habitual  phrase  of  parting 
people.  That  short  conversation  about  money  matters 
and  inheritance  had  at  once  destroyed  all  their  tender 
relations  of  brother  and  sister,  —  they  now  felt  estranged 


RESURRECTION  509 

from  each  other.  Consequently,  Natalya  Ivanovna  was 
glad  when  the  train  started,  and  it  was  possible  only  to 
nod,  and,  with  a  sad  and  kindly  face,  to  say,  "  Good-bye, 
Dmitri,  good-bye ! " 

The  moment  the  car  had  left,  she  began  to  think  how 
to  tell  her  husband  of  her  conversation  with  her  brother, 
and  her  face  looked  solemn  and  troubled. 

Although  Nekhlyudov  had  none  but  tlie  very  kindest 
feelings  for  his  sister,  and  never  concealed  anything  from 
her,  he  now  felt  awkward  and  oppressed  in  her  presence, 
and  wished  to  get  away  from  her  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
felt  that  there  was  no  longer  that  Natalya,  who  once  had 
been  so  near  to  him,  but  only  the  slave  of  a  stranger  and 
a  disagreeable,  swarthy,  and  hirsute  man.  He  saw  this 
because  her  face  ht  up  with  especial  animation  only 
when  he  said  something  which  interested  her  husband, 
—  that  is,  when  he  spoke  about  giving  away  the  land  to 
the  peasants  and  about  the  inheritance,  —  and  that  pained 
him. 


XL. 

The  heat  in  the  large  ear  of  the  third  class,  into  which 
the  sun  had  been  shining  all  day  long,  and  which  now 
was  tilled  with  people,  was  so  stitliug  that  Nekhlyiidov 
did  not  enter  the  car,  but  remained  on  the  brake  platform. 
Even  here  it  was  not  possible  to  breathe,  and  Nekhlyudov 
drew  a  deep  breath  only  when  the  cars  came  out  of  the 
rows  of  houses,  and  a  fresh  breeze  began  to  blow. 

"  Yes,  they  have  killed  them,"  he  repeated  the  words 
which  he  had  said  to  his  sister.  In  his  imagination  arose, 
through  all  the  impressions  of  that  day,  with  especial 
vividness,  the  handsome  face  of  the  second  dead  prisoner, 
with  the  smiling  expression  of  his  lips,  the  severe  aspect 
of  his  forehead,  and  the  small,  firm  ear  beneath  the 
shaven,  hvid  skull.  "  The  most  terrible  thing  of  this 
all  is  that  he  has  been  killed,  and  nobody  knows  who  it 
is  that  has  killed  him.  There  is  no  doubt  about  his 
having  been  killed.  He  was  led,  like  all  the  prisoners, 
by  order  of  Masl^nnikov.  Masl^unikov,  no  doubt,  sent 
forth  his  habitual  order,  with  his  stupid  flourish  signed  a 
paper  with  a  printed  headiug,  and,  of  course,  in  no  way 
will  regard  himself  as  guilty.  Still  less  can  the  prison 
doctor,  who  examined  the  prisoners,  consider  himself  to 
be  guilty.  He  accurately  executed  his  duty,  segregated 
the  weak,  and  in  no  way  could  foresee  this  terrible  heat, 
nor  that  they  would  be  taken  away  so  late  and  in  such  a 
throng.  The  superintendent  ?  —  but  the  superintendent 
only  executed  the  order  to  send  out  on  such  and  such  a 
day  so  many  enforced  labour  and  deportation  convicts, 
men  and  women.     Nor  can  the  officer  of  the  guard  be 

510 


RESURKECTION  51 1 

guilty,  whose  duty  consisted  in  receiving  a  certain  number 
of  prisoners  and  delivering  the  same  to  such  and  such  a 
place.  He  led  the  party  according  to  the  regulation,  and 
he  could  not  foresee  that  such  strong  men  as  those  two 
whom  Nekhlyudov  had  seen  would  not  hold  out  and 
would  die.  Nobody  is  guilty,  —  but  the  people  have  been 
killed,  and  they  have  been  killed  by  these  very  men  who 
are  innocent  of  their  deaths. 

"  All  this  was  done,"  thought  Nekhlyudov,  "  because 
all  these  people,  governors,  superintendents,  sergeants, 
pohcemen,  think  that  there  are  regulations  in  the  world, 
in  which  the  relations  of  man  to  man  are  not  obHgatory. 
If  all  these  people  —  Masl^nnikov,  the  superintendent, 
the  officer  of  the  guard  —  were  not  governors,  superin- 
tendents, and  officers,  they  would  have  considered  twenty 
times  whether  they  ought  to  take  out  the  prisoners  in 
such  a  heat  and  in  such  large  crowds ;  they  would  have 
stopped  twenty  times  during  the  march,  in  order  to  take 
out  such  men  as  were  weakening  and  falhng  ill ;  they 
would  have  taken  them  into  the  shade,  would  have  given 
them  water  to  drink,  would  have  allowed  them  to  rest, 
and,  if  a  misfortune  had  happened,  would  have  expressed 
their  compassion.  They  have  not  done  it,  and  have  even 
interfered  with  others  who  would  have  done  it,  because 
they  saw .  before  them,  not  men  and  their  obligations  to 
them,  but  their  own  service  and  its  demands,  which  they 
placed  higher  than  the  demands  of  human  relations.  That 
is  where  the  trouble  is,"  thought  Nekhlyudov.  "  If  it  is 
possible  to  acknowledge  that  anything  is  more  important 
than  the  feeling  of  humanity,  even  for  one  hour  and  in 
any  one  exceptional  case,  then  any  crime  may  be  com- 
mitted against  men  without  a  feeling  of  guilt." 

Nekhlyudov  fell  to  musing,  and  did  not  notice  how  the 
weather  had  in  the  meantime  changed :  the  sun  had  dis- 
appeared behind  a  low,  tattered,  advance  cloud,  and  from 
the  western  horizon  moved  a  solid,  light  gray  cloud,  which 


512  RESURRECTION 

somewhere  far  away  was  already  pouring  forth  its  slanting, 
abundant  rain  over  fields  and  woods.  A  damp,  rain-fed 
breeze  was  wafted  from  the  storm-cloud.  Now  and  then 
lightnings  crossed  the  cloud,  and  the  rumble  of  thunder 
ever  more  frequently  mingled  with  the  rumble  of  the  car- 
wheels.  The  cloud  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  slanting 
drops  of  rain,  driven  by  the  wind,  began  to  wet  the  brake 
platform  and  Nekhlyudov's  overcoat.  He  went  over  to 
the  other  side,  and,  iuhaling  the  moist  air  and  the  odour 
of  growing  corn  from  the  thirsty  earth,  looked  at  the 
passing  gardens,  forests,  yellowiug  fields  of  rye,  the  still 
green  strips  of  oats  and  the  black  furrows  of  the  dark 
green,  flowering  potato-beds.  Everything  looked  as 
though  covered  with  lacquer ;  that  which  was  green  be- 
came greener,  that  which  was  yellow  grew  yellower,  and 
that  which  was  black,  blacker. 

"  More,  more,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  rejoicing  at  the  sight 
of  fields,  gardens,  and  orchards,  which  were  reviving  under 
the  influence  of  the  beneficent  rain. 

The  heavy  rain  did  not  come  down  long.  The  storm- 
cloud  was  partly  exhausted  and  partly  carried  beyond, 
and  only  the  last,  straight,  abundant,  and  tiny  drops  fell 
on  the  damp  earth.  The  sun  again  peeped  out;  every- 
thing sparkled,  and  in  the  west  there  was  arched  above 
the  horizon  a  low,  but  bright  rainbow,  with  prominent 
violet  hue,  discontinuous  at  one  end  only, 

"  What  was  it  I  was  thinking  about  ? "  Nekhlyudov 
asked  himself,  when  all  these  changes  in  Nature  had 
taken  place,  and  the  train  was  passing  over  a  road-bed 
that  was  raised  high  above  the  lower  ground. 

"  Yes,  I  was  thinking  that  all  these  people,  —  the  super- 
intendent, the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  —  that  all  serving 
people,  —  most  of  them  meek,  kindly  people,  —  have 
become  bad  only  through  service." 

He  recalled  Masl^nnikov's  indifference,  when  he  told 
him  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  prison,  the  severity  of 


RESURRECTION  613 

the  superintendent,  the  cruelty  of  the  officer  of  the  guard, 
when  he  did  not  permit  the  men  to  get  into  the  drays, 
and  when  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  woman  who  was  in 
labour  in  the  car.  x\ll  these  people  were  apparently  im- 
mune and  impervious  to  the  simplest  sense  of  compassion 
only  because  they  served.  They,  as  serving  people,  were 
impervious  to  the  feeling  of  humanity,  "  as  tliis  paved 
earth  is  to  rain,"  thought  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  the 
incliue  of  the  embankment  which  was  paved  with  many- 
coloured  stones,  over  which  the  rain-water  flowed  down 
in  runlets,  without  soaking  into  the  earth.  "  It  may  be 
necessary  to  pave  the  embankments  with  stones,  but  it 
is  sad  to  see  the  earth  deprived  of  vegetation,  whereas 
it  could  have  brought  forth  grain,  grass,  shrubs,  trees, 
like  the  land  which  is  to  be  seen  above  the  ravine.  It 
is  just  so  with  men,"  thought  Nekhlyudov.  "  It  may  be 
that  these  governors,  superintendents,  policemen,  are  nec- 
essary, but  it  is  terrible  to  see  people  deprived  of  their 
chief  human  quality,  —  of  love  and  pity  for  their  fellow 
men. 

"The  trouble  is,"  thought  Nekhlyudov,  "that  these 
men  accept  as  law  that  which  is  not  the  law,  and  do  not 
acknowledge  as  law  that  which  is  an  eternal,  unchange- 
able, inalienable  law,  written  by  God  Himself  in  the  hearts 
of  men.  It  is  this  which  makes  it  so  hard  for  me  to  be 
with  these  men,"  thought  Nekhlyudov.  "  I  am  simply 
afraid  of  them.  Indeed,  they  are  terrible  people,  —  more 
terrible  than  robbers.  A  robber  may  have  pity,  —  these 
never  can ;  they  are  ensured  against  pity,  as  these  stones 
are  against  vegetation.  It  is  this  which  makes  them  so 
terrible.  They  say  Pugach^v  and  Razin  are  terrible. 
These  are  a  thousand  times  more  terrible  !  "  he  continued 
to  think.  "  If  a  psychological  problem  were  given,  —  what 
is  to  be  done  in  order  that  people  of  our  time,  humane 
Christians,  simply  good  people,  should  commit  the  most 
atrocious  deeds  without  feeling  themselves  guilty  ?  —  only 


514  RESURRECTION 

one  solution  would  present  itself :  it  is  necessary  to  do 
tliat  which  actually  is  being  done ;  it  is  necessary  for 
these  people  to  be  governors,  superintendents,  officers, 
policemen,  that  is,  they  must,  in  the  first  place,  be  con- 
vinced that  there  is  a  thing  called  government  service 
where  one  may  treat  people  as  objects,  without  any  human, 
fraternal  relation  to  them,  and,  in  the  second,  that  the 
people  of  this  government  service  must  be  so  interrelated 
that  the  responsibility  for  their  treatment  of  people  should 
fall  on  no  one  separately.  Outside  of  these  couditions,  it 
is  impossible  in  our  day  to  commit  such  atrocious  deeds 
as  those  which  I  have  seen  to-day. 

"  The  trouble  is  that  people  think  that  there  are  con- 
ditions under  which  one  may  treat  men  without  love, 
whereas  there  are  no  such  conditions.  Things  may  be 
treated  without  love:  one  may  chop  wood,  make  bricks, 
forge  iron,  without  love ;  but  people  cannot  be  treated 
without  love,  just  as  one  cannot  handle  bees  without 
care.  Such  is  the  property  of  the  bees.  If  they  are  care- 
lessly handled  by  a  person,  they  hurt  both  themselves 
and  him.  Just  so  it  is  with  people.  This  cannot  be 
otherwise,  because  mutual  love  between  men  is  the  fun- 
damental law  of  human  existence.  It  is  true,  a  man  cannot 
make  himself  love  as  he  can  make  himself  work,  but  from 
this  it  does  not  follow  that  people  may  be  treated  without 
love,  especially  if  something  is  demanded  from  them.  If 
you  feel  no  love  for  men,  —  keep  your  peace,"  Nekhlyudov 
thought,  addressing  himself.  "  Busy  yourself  with  your- 
self, with  things,  only  not  with  men.  Just  as  one  can  eat 
without  harm  and  profitably  only  when  one  is  hungry, 
so  one  may  profitably  and  harmlessly  make  use  of  men 
only  as  long  as  one  loves  them.  Permit  yourself  to  treat 
people  without  love,  just  as  you  yesterday  treated  your 
brother-in-law,  and  there  is  no  hmit  to  cruelty  and  besti- 
ality in  regard  to  other  people,  just  as  I  have  observed 
to-day,  and  there  is  no  limit  to  suffering,  as  I  have  dis- 


EESURRECTION  515 

covered  iu  my  own  life.  Yes,  yes,  that  is  so,"  thought 
Nekhlyiidov.  "  It  is  good,  it  is  good  ! "  he  repeated  to 
himself,  experiencing  the  double  pleasure  of  refreshment 
after  the  sweltering  heat,  and  of  having  become  conscious 
of  the  highest  degree  of  clearness  in  a  question  which  had 
been  interesting  him  for  a  long  time. 


XLI. 

The  car,  in  which  Nekhlyiidov's  seat  was,  was  half- 
filled  with  people.  There  were  here  servants,  artisans, 
factory  hands,  butchers,  Jews,  clerks,  women,  wives  of 
labourers,  and  there  were  a  soldier,  and  two  ladies, — 
one  young,  the  other  of  middle  age,  with  bracelets  on  her 
bare  wrist,  —  and  a  stern-looking  gentleman  with  a  cockade 
in  his  black  cap.  All  these  people,  having  fixed  them- 
selves in  their  seats,  were  sitting  in  orderly  fashion,  some 
of  them  cracking  pumpkin  seeds,  some  smoking  cigarettes, 
while  others  were  carrying  on  animated  conversations 
with  their  neighbours. 

Taras,  with  happy  mien,  was  sitting  to  the  right  of  the 
aisle,  keeping  a  place  for  Nekhlyildov,  and  was  chatting 
away  with  a  muscular  man  in  an  unbuttoned,  sleeveless, 
cloth  coat,  sitting  opposite  him  ;  Nekhlyudov  later  learned 
that  he  was  a  gardener  travelling  to  tak .  a  job.  Before 
walking  up  to  Taras,  Nokhlyiidov  stopped  in  the  aisle 
near  a  respectable-looking  old  man  with  a  white  beard,  in 
a  nankeen  coat,  who  was  conversing  with  a  young  woman 
in  village  attire.  At  the  woman's  side  sat  a  seven-year- 
old  girl,  in  a  new  sleeveless  coat,  with  a  braid  of  almost 
white  hair.  Her  feet  dangled  way  above  the  floor,  and 
she  cracked  seeds  all  the  time. 

Upon  noticing  Nekhlyudov,  the  old  man  pushed  aside 
the  fold  of  his  coat  from  the  shining  bench,  on  which  he 
was  sitting,  and  said,  in  a  kind  voice : 

"  Please  be  seated." 

Nekhlyudov  thanked  him  and  took  the  indicated  seat, 

616 


RESURRECTION  517 

When  he  had  done  that,  the  woman  continued  her  inter- 
rupted story. 

She  was  telling  how  her  husband,  from  whom  she  was 
returning  now,  had  received  her  in  the  city. 

"  I  was  there  in  Butter-week,  and  now  God  has  granted 
that  I  should  be  there  again,"  she  said.  "  And  now,  if 
God  shall  permit  it,  I  shall  see  him  again  at  Christmas." 

"  That  is  good,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  at  Nekhlyu- 
dov.  "  You  must  watch  him,  or  else  a  young  man,  living 
in  the  city,  will  soon  get  spoiled." 

"  No,  grandfather,  mine  is  not  that  kind  of  a  man.  He 
not  only  does  not  do  anything  foolish,  he  is  like  a  maiden. 
He  sends  all  his  money  home,  to  the  last  cent.  And  he 
was  so  glad  to  see  the  girl,  —  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how 
happy  he  was,"  said  the  woman,  smiling. 

The  little  girl,  who  was  spitting  out  the  shells  and 
listening  to  her  mother,  looked  with  quiet,  intelligent  eyes 
at  the  faces  of  the  old  man  and  of  Nekhlyudov. 

"  If  he  is  clever,  so  much  the  better,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  And  does  he  busy  himself  with  this  ? "  he  added,  with 
his  eyes  indicating  a  pair,  man  and  wife,  apparently  factory 
hands,  who  were  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  aisle. 

The  man  had  put  a  brandy  bottle  to  his  mouth,  and, 
throwing  his  head  back,  was  taking  some  swallows  from 
it,  while  his  wife  was  holding  a  bag  in  her  hand,  from 
which  the  bottle  had  been  taken,  and  looking  fixedly  at 
her  husband. 

"  No,  mine  neither  drinks  nor  smokes,"  said  the  woman, 
the  old  man's  interlocutrice,  using  the  opportunity  to 
praise  up  her  husband  once  more.  "  The  earth  brings 
forth  few  such  men  as  he  is.  That's  the  kind  of  a  man  he 
is,"  she  said,  turning  to  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Nothing  better,"  repeated  the  old  man,  who  was  watch- 
ing the  drinking  factory  workman.  The  workman,  having 
had  his  fill,  handed  the  bottle  to  his  wife.  She  took  it 
and,  smiling  and  shaking  her  head,  put  it  to  her  mouth. 


618  RESURRECTION 

Upon  noticing  Nekhlyudov's  and  the  old  man's  glances, 
the  workman  turned  to  them. 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  are  wondering  why  we  are  drinking  ? 
When  we  work,  no  one  sees  us,  but  when  we  drink,  all 
watch  us.  When  I  earn  money,  I  drink  and  treat  my 
spouse,  and  nobody  else." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  not  knowing  what  to 
answer. 

"  Is  it  right,  sir  ?  My  spouse  is  a  firm  woman  !  I  am 
satisfied  with  my  spouse,  because  she  knows  how  to  pity. 
Do  I  say  right,  Mavra  ? " 

"  Take  it ;  I  do  not  want  any  more,"  said  his  wife,  giv- 
ing him  the  bottle.  "Don't  prattle  senselessly,"  she 
added. 

"  That's  it,"  continued  the  workman,  "  she  is  all  right, 
but  she  squeaks  like  an  ungreased  wagon.  Mavra,  do  I 
say  right  ? " 

Mavra,  laughing,  with  a  drunken  gesture  waved  her 
hand. 

"  You  are  frisky  —  " 

"  That's  it,  she  is  all  right,  as  long  as  she  is  all  right, 
but  when  the  reins  get  under  her  tail,  she  carries  on 
awfully  —  I  am  telling  the  truth.  You  must  excuse  me, 
sir.  I  have  drunk  some,  —  well,  what  is  to  be  done  ? " 
said  the  workman.  He  put  his  head  into  his  wife's  lap 
and  was  getting  ready  to  fall  asleep. 

Nekhlyiidov  sat  awhile  with  the  old  man,  who  told  him 
about  himself.  He  said  that  he  was  a  stove-builder,  that 
he  had  worked  for  fifty-three  years,  putting  up  an  endless 
number  of  stoves  in  his  lifetime,  and  that  he  was  now 
trying  to  take  a  rest,  but  could  not  get  the  time  for  it. 
He  had  been  in  the  city,  where  he  had  put  the  boys 
to  work,  and  now  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  village,  to  see 
how  his  people  were  getting  on.  After  having  listened  to 
the  old  man's  story,  Nekhlyiidov  arose  and  went  over 
to  the  place  which  Taras  had  reserved  for  him. 


RESURRECTION  519 

"  Well,  sir,  take  a  seat.  I  shall  take  the  sack  over 
here,"  kiudly  remarked  the  gardener,  who  was  sitting 
opposite   Taras,  looking  up  at  Nekhlyiidov's  face. 

"  Though  it  is  crowded,  no  offence  is  meant,"  smiling 
Taras  said,  in  a  chanting  voice,  lifting  up  his  seventy- 
pound  bag  like  a  feather  in  his  powerful  hands  and  carry- 
ing it  over  to  the  window.  "  There  is  plenty  of  room 
here,  and  we  can  stand,  or  go  down  under  the  bench.  It 
is  quiet  there.  What  nonsense  I  am  saying  ! "  he  said, 
beaming  with  good  nature  and  kindness. 

Taras  said  of  himself  that  when  he  did  not  drink  he 
could  not  find  words,  but  that  liquor  gave  him  good  words, 
and  he  could  express  himself  well.  Indeed,  when  sober, 
Taras  was  generally  silent ;  but  when  he  took  some  liquor, 
which  happened  rarely  and  only  on  special  occasions,  he 
became  unusually  communicative.  He  then  spoke  a  great 
deal,  and  he  spoke  well,  with  great  simplicity,  truthfulness, 
and,  above  everything  else,  with  gentleness,  which  shone 
in  his  kindly  blue  eyes,  and  with  a  pleasing  smile,  which 
did  not  leave  his  lips. 

He  was  in  such  a  state  now.  Nekhlyiidov's  arrival  for 
a  moment  stopped  his  narrative.  But,  having  found  a 
place  for  his  bag,  he  sat  down  in  his  old  place,  and  put- 
ting his  strong  working  hands  on  his  knees,  and  looking 
straight  into  the  gardener's  eyes,  continued  his  story. 
He  was  telhug  his  new  acquaintance  all  the  details  of 
his  wife's  story,  why  she  was  being  deported,  and  why  he 
followed  her  up  to  Siberia. 

Nekhlyudov  had  never  heard  all  the  details  of  this 
story,  and  so  he  listened  with  interest.  The  story  had 
reached  the  point  where  the  poisoning  had  been  done, 
and  the  family  found  out  that  Fedosya  had  done  it. 

"  I  am  telling  about  my  sorrow,"  said  Taras,  turning  to 
Nekhlyudov,  with  an  expression  of  friendly  intimacy. 
"  I  have  fallen  in  with  a  nice  man,  and  so  I  am  telling 
him  my  story." 


520  KESURRECTION 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"So,  my  friend,  the  affair  was  discovered  in  this 
manner.  Mother  took  that  very  cake  and  said,  *  I  am 
going  to  the  officer.'  —  My  father,  who  is  a  wise  old  man, 
said,  *  Wait,  old  woman  !  She  is  a  mere  child ;  she  does 
not  know  herself  what  she  has  done,  and  you  ought  to 
pity  her.  She  may  regret  her  deed.'  —  No,  she  would 
not  listen  to  his  words.  — '  While  we  are  keeping  her,  she 
will  destroy  us  like  cockroaches.'  —  So  she  went  to  the 
officer.  He  immediately  made  for  our  house,  and  brought 
the  constables  with  him." 

"  And  how  was  it  with  you  ? "  asked  the  gardener. 

"My  friend,  I  was  tossing  about,  with  a  pain  in  my 
belly,  and  vomiting.  It  turned  all  my  inside  out,  —  it 
was  worse  than  I  can  tell  you.  Father  at  once  hitched 
the  horses  to  the  wagon,  put  Fedosya  in  it,  and  took  her 
to  the  village  office,  and  thence  to  the  examining  magis- 
trate. And  just  as  she  had  at  first  confessed  her  guilt,  so 
she  now  told  the  magistrate  everything,  —  where  she  got 
the  arsenic,  and  how  she  had  made  the  cake.  — '  Why,' 
says  he,  '  did  you  do  it  ? '  — '  Because,'  says  she,  '  I  am 
tired  of  him.  In  Siberia,'  says  she,  '  I  shall  be  better  off 
than  with  him,'  —  that's  me,  you  see,"  Taras  said,  smil- 
ing.—  "She  confessed  everything.  Of  course,  she  was 
sent  to  jail.  Father  came  back  alone.  And  there  came 
working  time,  and  all  the  women  we  had  was  mother, 
and  she  was  not  strong.  We  wondered  whether  we  could 
not  get  her  out  on  bail.  Father  went  to  see  some  officer, 
but  nothing  came  of  it ;  then  father  went  to  see  another. 
He  saw  five  men  that  way,  but  all  in  vain.  He  had  just 
about  given  up  trying,  when  he  fell  in  with  a  clerk.  He 
was  sleek,  —  a  rare  man.  — '  Give  me,'  says  he,  '  a  five, 
and  I  will  help  you.'  —  They  made  a  bargain  at  three 
roubles.  My  friend,  I  had  to  pawn  her  linen  to  get  the 
money.  And  so  he  wrote  a  document,"  Taras  stretched 
out  his  arm,  as  though  he  were  spealdng  of  a  shot,  "  and 


RESURRECTION  521 

it  came  out  all  at  once.  By  that  time  I  was  already  up 
from  bed,  and  I  myself  went  to  town  for  her. 

"  And  so,  my  friend,  I  came  to  town.     I  left  my  mare 
at  a  hostelry,  took  my  document,  and  went  to  the  prison. 

—  *  What  do  you  want  ? '  —  'So  and  so,'  says  I,  '  my  wife 
is  locked  up  here.'  —  *  Have  you  a  document  ? '  says  he. 

—  I  gave  it  to  him.  He  looked  at  it.  *  Wait,'  says  he.  I 
sat  down  on  a  bench.  The  sun  was  past  noon.  Comes 
in  the  chief.    '  Are  you,'  says  he,  '  Vargushov  ? '  —  'I  am.' 

—  '  Take  her,'  says  he.  —  They  opened  the  gate.  They 
brought  her  out  in  her  garb,  as  is  proper.  — '  Come,  let  us 
go.'  — '  Are  you  on  foot  ? '  — '  No,  I  have  brought  the 
horse  with  me.'  —  We  went  to  the  hostelry ;  I  paid  my 
bill,  harnessed  the  mare,  and  put  what  hay  there  was  left 
under  the  mat.  She  took  her  seat,  wrapped  herself  in 
her  kerchief,  and  off  we  went.  She  was  silent,  and  so 
was  I.  As  we  were  getting  near  the  house,  she  said :  '  Is 
mother  alive  ? '  — '  She  is.'  —  '  Forgive  me,  Taras,  my 
stupidity.  I  did  not  know  myself  what  I  was  doing.'  — 
But  I  said :  '  Whatever  you  may  say,  you  will  make  very 
little  change,  because  I  have  forgiven  you  long  ago.'  — 
She  did  not  say  another  word.  When  we  came  home, 
she  fell  down  at  mother's  feet.  Says  mother :  '  What  is 
the  use  recalling  the  past  ?  Do  the  best  you  can.  Now,' 
says  she,  '  there  is  no  time,  —  we  have  to  reap  the  field. 
Back  of  Skorodnoe,'  says  she,  *  on  the  manured  plot,  God 
has  given  us  such  a  crop  of  rye  that  you  can't  get  at  it 
with  a  hook ;  it  is  all  tangled  up  and  lying  flat.  It  has 
to  be  reaped.  So  you  go  there  with  Taras  to-morrow,  and 
reap  it.'  —  And  so  she  went  and  began  to  work.  It  was 
a  sight  to  see  her  work.  We  had  then  three  rented 
desyatinas,  and  God  had  given  us  a  rare  crop  of  rye  and 
oats.  I  would  cut  with  the  sickle,  and  she  would  bind, 
or  we  would  both  cut  with  the  scythe.  I  am  a  good 
hand  at  work,  but  she  is  better  still  at  anything  she  may 
do.     She  is  a  quick  worker  and  young.    And  she  grew  so 


522  EESUliKECTlON 

industrious  that  I  had  to  hold  her  back.  When  we  came 
to  the  house,  our  fingers  would  be  swollen,  and  our  hands 
would  smart,  so  that  we  ought  to  have  taken  a  rest,  but 
she  would  run  to  the  barn,  without  eating  supper,  in  order 
to  get  the  sheaf-cords  ready  for  the  morrow.  It  was  just 
dreadful ! " 

"  And  was  she  kind  to  you  ? "  asked  the  gardener. 

"  You  would  not  believe  me  how  she  stuck  to  me,  — 
she  just  became  one  soul  with  me.  I  would  barely  think 
of  a  thing,  when  she  would  understand  me.  Even  my 
mother,  who  is  a  cross  woman,  used  to  say :  *  Fedosya 
acts  as  though  she  were  somebody  else,  —  she  is  a  dif- 
ferent woman.'  —  Once  we  were  both  going  for  sheaves, 
and  we  were  sitting  both  together.  So  I  said  to  her: 
'  What  made  you  do  it,  Fedosya  ? '  —  'I  just  did  it,'  says 
she,  '  because  I  did  not  want  to  live  with  you.  I  would 
rather  die,  thought  I,  than  live  with  you.'  — '  Well,  and 
now  ? '  says  I.  — '  And  now,'  says  she,  '  you  are  deep  in 
my  heart.' "  Taras  stopped  and,  smiling  joyfully,  shook 
his  head  in  surprise.  "  We  had  returned  from  the  field, 
and  I  had  gone  to  soak  some  hemp ;  just  as  I  came 
home,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  behold,  a  sum- 
mons :  the  trial  was  on.  We  had  in  the  meantime  for- 
gotten that  there  was  to  be  a  trial." 

"  This  was  no  other  but  the  unclean  one,"  said  the 
gardener.  "  No  man  would  have  thought  of  ruining  a 
soul.  There  was  once  a  man  in  our  village  —  "  and  the 
gardener  began  to  tell  a  story,  but  the  train  stopped. 
"Here  is  a  station,"  he  said,  "I  must  go  and  get  a 
drink." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted,  and  Nekhlyiidov 
followed  the  gardener  out  of  the  car,  upon  the  wet  planks 
of  the  platform. 


XLII. 

Even  before  comiug  out  of  the  car,  Nekhlyudov  had 
noticed  several  elegant  carriages,  drawn  by  sets  of  three 
and  of  four  well-fed  horses  tinkling  with  their  bells. 
When  he  came  out  on  the  wet  platform,  which  looked 
black  from  the  rain,  he  saw  a  gathering  of  people  in  front 
of  the  first  class.  Among  them  was  most  prominent  a 
tall,  stout  lady  in  a  mackintosh,  with  a  hat  of  expensive 
feathers,  and  a  lank  young  man  with  thin  legs,  in  bicycle 
costume,  with  an  immense  well-fed  dog  with  an  expensive 
collar.  Back  of  them  stood  lackeys  with  wraps  and  um- 
brellas, and  a  coachman,  who  had  come  to  meet  somebody. 
On  all  that  crowd,  from  the  stout  lady  to  the  coachman, 
who  with  one  hand  was  supporting  the  skirts  of  his  long 
caftan,  lay  the  seal  of  quiet  self-confidence  and  super- 
abundance. About  this  point  soon  was  formed  a  circle 
of  curious  men,  servilely  admiring  wealth :  they  were  the 
chief  of  the  station,  a  gendarme,  a  haggard  maid  in  a 
native  costume,  with  glass  beads,  always  present  in  the 
summer  at  the  arrival  of  trains,  the  despatcher,  and  pas- 
sengers, men  and  women. 

In  the  young  man  with  the  dog,  Nekhlyudov  recog- 
nized a  gymnasiast,  young  Korchagin.  The  stout  lady 
was  the  princess's  sister,  to  whose  estate  the  Korchagins 
were  going.  The  chief  conductor,  in  shining  galloons 
and  boots,  opened  the  door  of  the  car  and  held  the  door, 
in  token  of  respect,  while  Filipp  and  a  labourer  in  a  white 
apron  carefully  carried  out  the  long-faced  princess  in  her 
folding  chair.  The  sisters  greeted  each  other ;  there  were 
heard  French  phrases  about  whether  the  princess  would 

623 


524  RESUKKECTION 

travel  in  a  carriage  or  in  a  barouche ;  and  the  procession, 
which  was  ended  by  the  chambermaid  with  the  curls, 
carrying  the  umbrellas  and  the  box,  moved  to  the  door  of 
the  station. 

Nekhlyiidov,  who  did  not  wish  to  meet  them,  because 
he  did  not  wish  to  bid  them  farewell  again,  did  not  walk 
up  as  far  as  the  door,  but  waited  for  the  procession  to 
pass.  The  princess  with  her  son,  Missy,  the  doctor,  and 
the  chambermaid  went  first,  while  the  prince  stopped  to 
talk  to  his  sister-in-law,  and  Nekhlyiidov,  who  did  not 
walk  up  close,  caught  only  broken  sentences  of  their 
conversation,  which  was  in  French.  One  of  these  phrases, 
as  frequently  is  the  case,  impressed  itself  deeply  on 
Nekhlyiidov's  memory,  with  all  its  intonations  and  sounds. 
"Oh,  il  est  dih  vrai  grand  monde,  du  vrai  grand  monde," 
the  prince  was  saying  of  some  one,  in  his  loud,  self-confi- 
dent voice.  He  passed  with  his  sister-in-law  through  the 
station  door,  accompanied  by  the  respectful  conductors 
and  porters. 

Just  then  a  throng  of  workingmen  in  bast  shoes  and 
short  fur  coats,  with  bags  over  their  shoulders,  made  their 
appearance  on  the  platform  from  somewhere  around  the 
corner  of  the  station.  The  workingmen  with  firm,  soft 
steps  walked  up  to  the  first  car  and  wanted  to  enter,  but 
were  driven  off  by  the  conductor.  They  did  not  stop, 
but,  hastening,  and  stepping  on  each  other's  feet,  went  to 
the  next  car,  and,  catching  with  their  bags  in  the  corners 
and  doors  of  the  car,  were  making  their  way  in,  when 
a  conductor  standing  in  the  door  of  the  station  noticed 
their  intention  and  angrily  called  out  to  them.  The 
workingmen  hastily  retreated,  and  with  the  same  soft 
steps  went  on  to  the  next  car,  the  one  Nekhlyiidov  was 
in.  Again  a  conductor  stopped  them.  They  stopped, 
intending  to  move  on,  but  Nekhlyiidov  told  them  that 
there  were  unoccupied  seats  in  the  car,  and  that  they 
should  go  in.     They  did  so,  and   Nekhlyiidov  went  in 


RESUiiKECTION  525 

after  them.  The  workingmen  were  on  the  point  of  seat- 
ing themselves,  but  the  gentleman  with  the  cockade  and 
the  two  ladies,  taking  their  attempt  to  seat  themselves 
in  this  car  as  a  personal  affront,  resolutely  opposed  them 
and  began  to  drive  them  out.  The  workingmen,  —  there 
were  about  twenty  of  them,  —  both  old  and  young  men, 
with  tired,  sunburnt,  lean  faces,  catching  with  their 
bags  against  the  benches,  walls,  and  doors,  apparently 
feeling  themselves  absolutely  guilty,  passed  on  through 
the  car,  evidently  ready  to  walk  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
and  to  sit  down  anywhere  they  should  be  permitted  to, 
even  on  nails.  • 

"  Where  are  you  going,  devils  ?  Sit  down,"  cried 
another  conductor,  who  came  from  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Voild.  encore  des  nouvclles"  said  the  younger  of  the 
two  ladies,  quite  convinced  that  she  would  attract  Nekh- 
lyiidov's  attention  with  her  good  French. 

The  lady  with  the  bracelets  kept  sniffing  and  frown- 
ing, saying  something  about  the  pleasure  of  sitting  in 
the  same  car  with  stinking  peasants. 

The  workingmen,  experiencing  joy  and  peace,  such  as 
people  experience  who  have  passed  a  great  peril,  stopped 
and  began  to  seat  themselves,  with  a  motion  of  their 
shoulders  throwing  down  the  heavy  bags  from  their 
shoulders  and  pushing  them  under  the  benches. 

The  gardener  who  had  been  speaking  with  Taras  went 
back  to  his  seat,  which  was  not  the  one  he  had  occupied, 
and  so,  near  Taras  and  opposite  him,  three  places  were 
free.  Three  workingmen  sat  down  on  these  seats,  but 
when  Nekhlyiidov  came  up  to  them,  the  sight  of  his  fine 
clothes  so  confused  them  that  they  got  up ;  Nekhlyiidov 
asked  them  to  keep  their  seats,  and  himself  sat  down  on 
the  arm  of  the  bench,  near  the  aisle. 

One  of  two  workingmen,  a  man  of  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  in  dismay  and  fright  looked  at  the  younger  man. 
They    were   very   much   surprised  and    baffled  to   see  a 


526  RESURRECTION 

gentleman  give  up  his  seat  to  them,  instead  of  calling 
them  names  and  driving  them  away,  as  gentlemen  gen- 
erally do.  They  were  even  afraid  lest  something  bad 
should  come  from  it.  Seeing,  however,  that  there  was 
no  trickery  in  it,  and  that  Nekhlyudov  conversed  in  a 
simple  manner  with  Taras,  they  quieted  down,  told 
a  youngster  to  sit  down  on  a  bag,  and  insisted  on  Nekh- 
lyiidov's  taking  the  seat.  At  first  the  elderly  working- 
man,  w^lio  was  seated  opposite  Nekhlyudov,  pressed 
himself  in  the  corner,  and  carefully  drew  back  his  feet, 
which  were  clad  in  bast  shoes,  in  order  not  to  push  the 
gentleman,  but  later  he  entered  into  such  a  friendly  chat 
with  Nekhlyudov  and  Taras  that  he  even  struck  Nekh- 
lyildov's  knee  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  whenever  he 
wished  to  attract  his  attention  to  some  particular  point 
in  his  story.  He  was  telling  about  all  his  affairs,  and 
about  his  work  in  the  peat-bogs,  from  which  they  were 
now  returning,  having  worked  there  for  two  months  and 
a  half.  They  were  taking  home  about  ten  roubles  each, 
as  part  of  the  wages  had  been  given  them  when  they 
were  hired. 

Their  work,  as  he  told  it,  was  done  in  water  which 
stood  knee-deep,  and  lasted  from  daybreak  until  night, 
with  two  hours  intermission  at  dinner. 

"  Those  who  are  not  used  to  it  naturally  find  it  hard,"  he 
said,  "  but  if  you  are  used  to  it,  it  is  not  bad.  If  only 
the  grub  were  good.  At  first  it  was  bad.  But  the  work- 
ingmen  objected,  and  then  the  grub  was  better,  and  it 
was  easier  to  work." 

Then  he  told  how  he  had  been  working  out  for  twenty- 
eight  years,  and  how  he  gave  his  earnings,  first  to  his 
father,  then  to  his  elder  brother,  and  now  to  his  nephew, 
who  was  in  charge  of  the  farm,  while  he  himself  ^«pent, 
out  of  the  fifty  or  sixty  roubles  which  he  earned  a  year, 
two  or  three  roubles  on  foolishness,  —  on  tobacco  and 
matches. 


RESURRECTION  527 

"  I,  sinful  man,  sometimes  take  a  drink  of  brandy,  when 
work  stops,"  he  added,  smiling  a  guilty  smile. 

He  also  told  how  the  women  looked  after  things  at 
home ;  how  the  contractor  had  treated  them  before  their 
journey  to  half  a  bucket ;  how  one  had  died ;  and  how 
they  were  taking  one  sick  .man  home.  The  sick  man,  of 
whom  he  spoke,  was  sitting  in  the  same  car,  in  a  corner. 
He  was  a  young  boy,  grayish  pale  in  his  face,  with  blue 
lips.     He  was  apparently  suffering  with  the  ague. 

Nekhlyudov  went  up  to  him,  but  the  boy  looked  with 
such  a  stern,  suffering  glance  at  him,  that  Nekhlyudov 
did  not  trouble  him  with  questions,  but  only  advised  an 
elder  man  to  buy  quinine,  and  wrote  out  the  name  of  the 
medicine  on  a  piece  of  paper  for  him.  He  wanted  to  give 
him  money,  but  the  old  workingman  said  that  it  was  not 
necessary,  that  he  would  give  his. 

"As  much  as  I  have  travelled,  I  have  not  seen  such 
gentlemen.  He  not  only  did  not  kick  me,  but  even  gave 
me  his  seat.  Apparently  there  are  all  kinds  of  gentle- 
men," he  concluded,  addressing  Taras. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  new,  a  different  and  a  new,  world," 
thought  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  these  drawn,  muscular 
limbs,  these  coarse,  home-made  garments,  and  these  sun- 
burnt, kindly,  and  exhausted  faces,  and  feeling  himself 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  entirely  new  men,  with  their 
serious  interests,  joys,  and  sufferings  of  a  real,  busy,  and 
human  life. 

"  Here  it  is,  le  vrai  grand  monde"  thought  Nekhlyudov, 
recalling  the  phrase  which  had  been  used  by  Prince 
Korchagin,  and  all  that  empty,  luxurious  world  of  the 
Korchagins,  with  their  petty,  miserable  interests.  And 
he  experienced  the  sensation  of  a  traveller  who  has  dis- 
covered a  new,  unknown,  and  beautiful  world. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

RESURRECTION 

Part  the  Third 3 

What  Is  Art? 135 

THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

Part   the    First.     The   Ancient  Religions  and  the 

New  Concept  of  Life 365 

Part  the  Second.     Of  Sins 377 

Part  the  Third.     Of  Offences 395 

Part   the   Fourth.     The    Deceptions  of  Faith  and 

the  Liberation  from  It          .....  407 

Part  the  Fifth.     Liberation  from  the  Offences   .  423 

Part  the  Sixth.     The  Struggle  with  Sins        .         .  431 

Part  the  Seventh.     Of  Prayer 451 

Part  the  Eighth.     Conclusion 457 


Help! 465 

Letter  to  the  Chief  of  the  Irkutsk  Disciplinary 

Battalion 475 

How   to   Read   the   Gospel,   and   What    Is    Its  Es- 
sence?           481 

The  Approach  of  the  End 489 

Famine  or  No  Famine  ? 503 

V 


VI  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ON  THE  RELATION  OF  THE  STATE 

Letter  to  Eugen  Heinrich  Schmitt   ....     525 

Letter  to  the  Liberals        ......     529 

Letter  to  the  Editor  of  the  Daily  Chronicle      .     544 


RESURRECTION 

1899 

Part  III. 


RESURRECTION 


PART   THE   THIRD 
I. 

The  party  to  which  Maslova  belonged  travelled  about 
five  thousand  versts.  As  far  as  Perm,  Maslova  travelled 
by  rail  and  water  with  the  criminals ;  but  here  Nekh- 
lyiidov  succeeded  in  getting  her  transferred  among  the 
politicals,  as  Vy^ra  Bogodiikhovski,  who  was  of  the  party, 
had  advised  him  to  do. 

The  journey  to  Perm  was  very  hard  for  Maslova,  both 
physically  and  morally.  Physically,  on  account  of  the 
close  quarters,  the  uncleanliness,  and  the  disgusting  ver- 
min, which  did  not  give  her  any  rest ;  and  morally,  on 
account  of  the  not  less  disgusting  men  who,  just  hke  the 
vermin,  though  they  changed  at  every  stopping-place, 
were  always  equally  persistent  and  annoying,  and  gave 
her  no  rest.  Between  the  prisoners,  the  warders,  and  the 
guards  the  habit  of  a  cynical  debauch  was  so  firmly 
established  that  every  woman,  especially  if  she  was 
young,  had  to  be  eternally  on  the  lookout,  if  she  did  not 
wish  to  make  use  of  her  position  as  a  woman.  This 
continuous  condition  of  fear  and  struggle  was  very  hard 
to  bear.  Maslova  was  more  especially  subject  to  these 
attacks  on  account  of  the  attractiveness  of  her  looks  and 

3 


4  RESUKRECTION 

her  well-known  past.  The  positive  opposition  to  the  men 
who  annoyed  her  with  their  attentions  presented  itself  to 
them  as  a  personal  affront,  and  provoked,  in  addition,  their 
mahce  toward  her.  Her  position  in  this  respect  was  alle- 
viated by  her  nearness  to  Fedosya  and  Taras,  who,  having 
heard  of  the  attacks  to  which  liis  wife  was  subjected,  had 
himself  arrested,  in  order  to  protect  her,  and  travelled 
from  Nizhni-Novgorod  as  a  prisoner  with  the  convicts. 

The  transfer  to  the  division  of  the  politicals  improved 
Maslova's  condition  in  every  respect.  Not  only  were  the 
politicals  better  housed  and  fed,  and  subject  to  less  bru- 
tahty,  but  also  by  Maslova's  transfer  to  the  pohticals  her 
condition  was  further  improved  because  all  the  persecu- 
tions of  the  men  at  once  stopped,  and  she  was  able  to  live 
without  being  reminded  every  moment  of  her  past,  wliich 
she  was  trying  to  forget.  The  chief  advantage  of  this 
transfer,  however,  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  became  ac- 
quainted with  certain  people  who  had  a  most  decided  and 
beneficent  influence  upon  her. 

At  the  halting-places,  Maslova  was  permitted  to  be 
housed  with  the  politicals,  but,  being  a  strong  woman, 
she  had  to  travel  with  the  criminals.  Thus  she  journeyed 
all  the  way  from  Tomsk.  With  her  went,  also  on  foot, 
two  politicals :  Marya  Pavlovna  Shchetiuin,  that  pretty 
girl  with  the  sheep  eyes,  who  had  so  impressed  Nekh- 
lyudov  during  his  interview  with  Vyera  Bogodukhovski, 
and  a  certain  Simonson,  who  was  being  deported  to  the 
Yakutsk  Territory,  —  that  swarthy,  shaggy  man  with 
far  retreating  eyes,  whom  Nekhlyudov  had  noticed  during 
the  same  interview.  Marya  Pavlovna  went  on  foot,  be- 
cause she  had  given  up  her  place  on  the  cart  to  a  preg- 
nant criminal;  Simonson  did  so  because  he  regarded  it 
unjust  to  make  use  of  his  class  privilege.  All  the  other 
politicals  left  later  in  the  day  on  carts,  but  these  three 
started  early  in  the  morning  with  the  criminals.  Thus 
it  was  also  at  the  last  halting-place,  before  a  large  city, 


RESURRECTION  5 

where  a  new  officer  of  the  guard  took  charge  of  the 
prisoners. 

It  was  an  early  stormy  September  morning.  There 
was  now  snow  and  now  rain,  with  gusts  of  a  chill  wind. 
All  the  prisoners  of  the  party  —  four  hundred  men  and 
about  fifty  women  —  were  already  in  the  yard  of  the 
halting-place ;  some  of  them  were  crowding  around  the 
commissary  of  the  guard,  who  was  distributing  pro- 
vision money  among  the  foremen  for  two  days ;  others 
were  purchasing  victuals  from  the  hawking  women,  who 
had  been  admitted  in  the  courtyard  of  the  halting-place. 
There  was  heard  the  din  of  the  prisoners'  voices,  of 
counting  money  and  buying  provisions,  and  the  squeaky 
voices  of  the  hucksters. 

Katyvlsha  and  Marya  Pavlovna  —  both  in  long  boots 
and  short  fur  coats,  and  wrapped  in  kerchiefs  —  came 
out  from  the  building  of  the  stopping-place  and  walked 
toward  the  hucksters,  who,  sitting  at  the  north  wall  of 
the  palisade,  to  protect  themselves  against  the  wind,  were 
vying  with  each  other  in  offering  their  wares :  fresh 
white  cakes,  fish,  noodle,  grits,  liver,  beef,  eggs,  milk ; 
one  of  them  had  even  a  roast  pig. 

Simonson,  in  a  rubber  jacket  and  overshoes,  tied  over 
his  woollen  stockings  by  means  of  twine  (he  was  a  vege- 
tarian and  did  not  use  the  skin  of  dead  animals),  was  also 
in  the  yard,  waiting  for  the  party  to  start.  He  was 
standing  near  the  porch  and  noting  down  in  his  diary 
a  thought  which  had  occurred  to  him.  His  thought  was 
like  this :  "  If  a  bacteria  were  to  observe  and  investigate 
a  man's  nail,  it  would  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
inorganic  matter.  Similarly  we,  who  have  observed  the 
rind  of  the  earth,  have  declared  the  terrestrial  globe  to  be 
inorganic  matter.     This  is  not  correct." 

Having  purchased  some  eggs,  pretzels,  fish,  and  fresh 
wheat  bread,  Maslova  put  all  these  things  into  her  bag, 
and  Marya  Pavlovna  was  settling  her  biU  with  the  huck- 


b  KESURRECTION 

sters,  when  the  prisoners  suddenly  came  into  motion. 
Everything  grew  silent,  and  the  prisoners  began  to  range 
themselves.  The  officer  came  out  and  made  his  last 
arrangements  before  the  start. 

Everything  went  as  usual :  the  prisoners  were  counted  ; 
the  fetters  were  examined ;  and  the  pairs  that  walked 
together  were  being  handcuffed.  But  suddenly  were 
heard  the  imperious  and  angry  voice  of  the  officer,  blows 
on  a  body,  and  the  cries  of  a  child.  Everything  grew 
silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  a  dull  murmur  ran  through 
the  throng.  Maslova  and  Marya  Pavlovna  moved  up 
to  the  place  whence  the  noise  proceeded. 


n. 

Upon  reaching  the  spot,  Marya  Pavlovna  and  Katyusha 
saw  this :  the  officer,  a  stout  man  with  a  long,  blond 
moustache,  was  frowning  and  with  his  left  hand  rubbing 
the  palm  of  his  right,  which  he  had  hurt  in  boxing  a 
prisoner's  ears.  He  did  not  stop  uttering  coarse,  indecent 
curses.  In  front  of  him  stood  a  lean,  haggard  prisoner, 
in  a  short  cloak  and  still  shorter  trousers,  one-half  of 
whose  head  was  shaven.  With  one  hand  he  was  rubbing 
his  mauled  and  bleeding  face,  while  with  the  other  he 
held  a  little  girl  who  was  wrapped  in  a  kerchief  and 
whined  piercingly. 

"  I  will  teach  you "  (an  indecent  curse)  "  to  talk ! " 
(Again  a  curse.)  "  Give  her  to  the  women ! "  cried  the 
officer.     "  Put  them  on  !  " 

The  officer  demanded  that  the  communal  prisoner  be 
handcuffed.  He  was  being  deported,  and  had  all  the 
way  been  carrying  a  little  girl  left  him  by  his  wife,  who 
had  died  at  Tomsk  of  the  typhus,  as  the  prisoners  said. 
The  prisoner's  remark  that  he  could  not  carry  his  girl 
while  handcuffed  had  excited  the  officer,  who  was  out  of 
sorts,  whereupon  he  dealt  blows  to  a  prisoner,  who  did 
not  submit  at  once.^ 

In  front  of  the  beaten  prisoner  stood  a  soldier  of  the 
guard  and  a  thick-set,  black-bearded  prisoner  with  a 
handcuff  on  one  hand,  gloomily  looking  up,  now  at  the 
officer,  and  now  at  the  beaten  prisoner  and  the  girl. 
The  officer  repeated  his  command  to  the  soldier  to  take 

^This  fact  is  described  in  D.  A.  Lfuev's  work,  By  Etape-  — 
Author's  Note. 

7 


8  EESUREECTION 

away  the  girl.  Among  the  prisoners  the  murmuring 
became  ever  more  audible. 

"  He  had  no  handcuffs  on  him  all  the  way  from  Tomsk," 
was  heard  a  hoarse  voice  in  the  back  ranks.  "  It  is  not  a 
pup,  but  a  child." 

"  What  is  he  to  do  with  the  child  ?  This  is  against 
the  law,"  said  somebody  else. 

"  Who  has  said  that  ? "  the  officer  shouted,  as  though 
stung,  rushing  at  the  prisoners.  "  I  will  show  you  the 
law.     Who  said  it  ?     You  ?  You  ?  " 

"  All  say  it,  because  —  "  said  a  broad-shouldered,  stocky 
man. 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  The  officer  began  to 
strike  his  face  with  both  his  hands. 

"  You  mean  to  riot  ?  I  will  teach  you  how  to  riot !  I 
will  shoot  you  down  like  dogs,  and  the  authorities  will 
only  thank  me  for  it.     Take  the  girl !  " 

The  throng  grew  silent.  A  soldier  tore  away  the  des- 
perately crying  girl ;  another  began  to  manacle  the  prisoner 
who  submissively  offered  his  hand. 

"  Take  her  to  the  women,"  the  officer  cried  to  the 
soldier,  adjusting  the  sword-hanger. 

The  httle  girl  tried  to  free  her  hands  from  the  kerchief 
and,  with  flushed  face,  whined  without  intermission. 
Marya  Pavlovna  stepped  out  from  the  crowd  and  walked 
over  to  the  soldier. 

"  Mr.  Officer,  permit  me  to  carry  the  girl ! " 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  asked  the  officer. 

"  I  am  a  political." 

Apparently,  Marya  P^vlovna's  pretty  face,  with  her 
beautiful  bulging  eyes  (he  had  noticed  her  before,  when 
receiving  the  prisoners),  had  an  effect  upon  the  officer.  He 
looked  in  silence  at  her,  as  though  considering  something. 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  me.  Carry  her,  if  you  want 
to.  It  is  easy  enough  for  you  to  pity  him ;  but  who  will 
be  responsible,  if  he  runs  away  ? " 


KESURRECTION  9 

"  How  can  he  run  away  with  the  girl  ? "  said  Mdrya 
Pavlovna. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  discuss  with  you.  Take  her,  if  you 
want  to." 

"  May  I  give  the  child  to  her  ? "  asked  the  soldier. 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  to  me,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna,  trying  to  win 
the  girl  over. 

But  the  girl,  who,  in  the  soldier's  arms,  stretched  her 
hands  toward  her  father,  continued  to  whine  and  did  not 
want  to  go  to  Marya  Pavlovna. 

"  Wait,  Marya  Pavlovna !  She  will  come  to  me,"  said 
Maslova,  taking  a  pretzel  out  of  her  bag. 

The  girl  knew  Maslova,  and,  seeing  her  face  and  the 
pretzel,  readily  went  to  her. 

Everything  grew  quiet.  The  gate  was  opened  and  the 
party  walked  out  and  drew  up  in  rows ;  the  soldiers 
counted  them  once  more ;  the  bags  were  tied  up  and  put 
away,  and  the  feeble  were  put  on  the  carts.  Maslova, 
with  the  girl  in  her  arms,  stood  with  the  women,  at 
Fedosya's  side.  Simonsdn,  who  had  all  the  time  watched 
the  proceeding,  with  large  determined  steps  went  up  to 
the  officer,  who  had  made  all  the  arrangements  and  was 
seating  himself  in  his  tarantas. 

"  You  have  acted  badly,  Mr.  Officer,"  said  Simonson. 

"  Go  back  to  your  place  !   It  is  none  of  your  business  ! " 

"  It  is  my  business  to  tell  you  that  you  have  done 
wrong,"  said  Simonson,  fixedly  looking  upwards  at  the 
officer,  through  his  thick  eyebrows. 

"  Eeady  ?  The  party  —  march  !  "  cried  the  officer,  paying 
no  attention  to  Simonson,  and  helping  himself  into  the 
tarantas  by  taking  hold  of  the  shoulder  of  the  soldier 
coachman.  The  party  started,  and,  spreading  out,  walked 
into  the  muddy,  rutted  road,  which  was  ditched  on  both 
sides  and  ran  through  a  dense  forest. 


IIL 

After  the  debauched,  luxurious,  and  effeminate  life  of 
the  last  six  years  in  the  city,  and  after  the  two  months 
in  the  prison  with  the  criminals,  the  life  with  the  polit- 
icals, notwithstanding  all  the  difficult  conditions  under 
which  they  were  living,  seemed  very  pleasant  to  Katyusha. 
Marches  of  from  twenty  to  thirty  versts  a  day,  with  good 
food,  and  a  day's  rest  after  every  two  days  on  the  road, 
physically  braced  her ;  while  her  daily  intercourse  with 
her  new  companions  opened  up  new  interests  of  life  to 
her,  such  as  she  had  never  known  before  Such  charming 
people,  as  she  expressed  herself,  as  those  were  with  whom 
she  was  now  marching,  she  had  never  known,  and  could 
not  even  have  imagined. 

"  How  I  wept  at  being  sentenced  !  "  she  said.  "  But  I 
ought  to  thank  God :  I  have  learned  things  I  should  not 
have  known  in  a  lifetime."  She  very  easily  and  without 
effort  understood  the  motives  which  guided  these  people, 
and,  belonging  herself  to  the  lower  masses,  she  fully 
sympathized  with  them.  She  comprehended  that  these 
people  were  with  the  masses  against  the  masters ;  and 
what  particularly  made  her  esteem  them  and  admire  them 
was  the  fact  that  they  themselves  belonged  to  the  better 
classes  and  yet  sacrificed  their  privileges,  their  liberty, 
and  their  lives  for  the  people. 

She  was  delighted  with  all  her  new  companions ;  but 
more  than  all  she  admired  Marya  Pavlovna.  She  not 
only  admired  her,  but  loved  her  with  a  special,  respectful, 
and  rapturous  love.  She  was  surprised  to  see  this  beauti- 
ful girl,  the  daughter  of  a  rich  general,  who  could  speak 

10 


RESURRECTION  11 

three  languages,  conducting  herself  like  the  simplest 
working  woman,  giving  away  everything  which  her  rich 
brother  sent  her,  and  dressing  herself  not  only  simply, 
but  even  poorly,  paying  not  the  least  attention  to  her 
looks.  This  trait  —  the  complete  absence  of  coquetry  — 
particularly  impressed  and  enchanted  Maslova.  Maslova 
saw  that  Marya  Pavlovna  knew,  and  that  it  even  was 
pleasant  for  her  to  know,  that  she  was  beautiful,  and  yet 
that  she  did  not  in  the  least  enjoy  the  impression  wbich 
her  looks  produced  on  men,  but  that  she  was  afraid  of  it 
and  experienced  loathing  and  terror  of  falling  in  love. 
Her  male  companions,  knowing  this,  did  not  permit  them- 
selves to  show  any  preference  for  her,  if  they  felt  them- 
selves attracted  to  her,  and  treated  her  as  an  equal ;  but 
strangers  frequently  annoyed  her,  and  from  these,  she 
said,  she  was  saved  by  her  great  physical  strength,  of 
which  she  was  especially  proud. 

"  Once,"  she  laughingly  told  Katyusha,  "  a  certain  gen- 
tleman annoyed  me  in  the  street,  and  would  not  go  away, 
I  then  gave  him  such  a  shaking  that  he  was  frightened 
and  ran  away." 

She  became  a  revolutionist,  she  said,  because  ever 
since  her  childhood  she  had  taken  a  dislike  to  the  life 
the  masters  led  and  liked  that  of  the  simple  people,  being 
always  scolded  for  preferring  the  maids'  rooms,  the  kitchen, 
the  stable,  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  always  felt  happy  with  the  cooks  and  coachmen,  but 
dull  with  our  gentlemen  and  ladies,"  she  said.  "  Later, 
when  I  began  to  comprehend  things,  I  saw  that  our  Ufe 
was  very  bad.  I  had  no  mother,  my  father  I  did  not 
love,  and  when  I  w^as  nineteen  years  old  I  went  away 
from  home  with  a  friend  of  mine  and  became  a  factory 
girl." 

After  working  in  the  factory  she  lived  in  the  country ; 
then  she  came  to  the  city  and  lived  in  lodgings  where 
there  was  a  secret  printing  office,  and  there  she  was  arrested 


12  KEStJRKECTION 

and  sentenced  to  hard  labour.  Marya  Pdvlovna  never 
told  this  herself,  but  Katyusha  found  out  from  others 
that  she  was  sentenced  to  hard  labour  for  claiming  to 
have  fired  a  shot,  which  had,  in  reality,  been  fired  by  a 
revolutionist  in  the  dark. 

Ever  since  Katyusha  knew  her,  she  saw  that  wherever 
she  was,  and  under  whatsoever  circumstances,  she  never 
thought  of  herself,  but  was  concerned  about  serving  and 
aiding  others,  in  large  and  in  small  things.  One  of  her 
companions  of  the  party,  Novodvorov  by  name,  jestingly 
remarked  of  her  that  she  was  addicted  to  the  sport  of 
beneficence.  And  that  was  the  truth.  Just  as  the 
hunter  is  bent  on  finding  game,  so  all  the  interests  of 
her  life  consisted  in  finding  an  occasion  to  do  some  one  a 
good  turn.  This  sport  became  a  habit  with  her  and  the 
business  of  her  hfe.  She  did  all  this  so  naturally  that 
those  who  knew  her  no  longer  valued  it,  but  demanded 
it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

When  Maslova  joined  them,  Marya  Pavlovna  experi- 
enced a  disgust  and  loathing  for  her.  Katyusha  noticed 
it ;  but  she  also  saw  later  that  Marya  Pavlovna  made  an 
effort  over  herself  and  began  to  treat  her  with  exceeding 
kindness.  The  kindness  from  so  unusual  a  being  so 
touched  Maslova  that  she  surrendered  herself  to  her  with 
all  her  soul,  unconsciously  adopting  Marya  Pavlovna's 
views,  and  involuntarily  imitating  her  in  everything. 

This  devotion  of  Katyusha  touched  Marya  Pavlovna, 
and  she,  in  her  turn,  began  to  love  Katyusha.  These 
two  women  were  also  drawn  to  each  other  by  that  loath- 
ing which  both  experienced  for  sexual  love.  One  of 
them  despised  this  love  because  she  had  experienced  all 
its  horrors ;  the  other,  who  had  not  experienced  it,  — 
because  she  looked  upon  it  as  something  incomprehen- 
sible aud  at  the  same  time  disgusting  and  insulting  to 
human  dignity. 


IV. 

Katyusha  submitted  to  the  influence  which  Marya 
Pavlovna  exerted  over  her.  It  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
Maslova  loved  Marya  Pavlovna.  There  was  also  Simon- 
son's  influence  over  her.  This  originated  in  the  fact  that 
Simonson  loved  Katyusha. 

All  people  hve  and  act  partly  under  the  influence  of 
their  own  thoughts,  and  partly  under  the  influence  of  the 
thoughts  of  others.  One  of  t^e  chief  distinctions  between 
people  is  determined  by  how  much  they  live  according  to 
their  own  ideas  or  according  to  those  of  others :  some 
people,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  make  use  of  their  own 
thoughts  as  a  mental  toy,  and  treat  their  reason  as  a  fly- 
wheel from  which  the  driving-belt  has  been  taken  off, 
while  in  their  acts  they  submit  to  thoughts  of  others,  — 
to  custom,  tradition,  law;  others  again,  regarding  their 
own  ideas  as  the  prime  movers  of  all  their  acti\dties, 
nearly  always  listen  to  the  promptings  of  their  own  rea- 
son and  submit  to  it,  following  only  in  exceptional  cases 
—  and  that,  too,  after  due  critical  consideration  —  the 
decisions  of  others. 

Simonson  was  such  a  man.  He  weighed  and  tested 
everything  by  reason,  and  what  he  decided  upon  he  did. 

Having,  while  a  student  at  the  gymnasium,  decided 
that  the  property  acquired  by  his  father,  an  ex-officer 
of  the  commissariat,  had  been  wrongfully  obtained,  he 
informed  his  father  that  he  ought  to  give  up  his  wealth 
to  the  people.  When  his  father  not  only  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  him  but  even  scolded  him,  he  left  his  home  and 
stopped  availing  himself  of  his  father's  means.     Having 

13 


14  RESURRECTION 

decided  that  all  existing  evil  was  due  to  the  ignorance 
of  the  people,  he,  upon  leaving  the  university,  fell  in  with 
the  Populists,  accepted  a  teacher's  place  in  a  village,  and 
boldly  preached  to  his  pupils  and  to  the  peasants  every- 
thing which  he  thought  right,  and  denied  everything 
which  he  considered  false. 

He  was  arrested  and  tried. 

During  his  trial,  he  decided  that  the  judges  had  no 
right  to  judge  him,  and  he  so  told  the  judges.  When 
they  did  not  agree  with  him  and  continued  the  trial,  he 
decided  not  to  answer  any  questions,  and  remained  silent 
all  the  time.  He  was  deported  to  the  Government  of 
Arkhangelsk.  There  he  formulated  a  religious  doctrine 
for  himself,  and  this  formed  the  basis  of  his  whole  activ- 
ity. According  to  this  doctt-ine  everything  in  the  world 
is  alive ;  there  is  no  inert  body,  but  all  the  objects  which 
we  regard  as  dead  and  inorganic  are  only  parts  of  an 
enormous  organic  body,  which  we  cannot  comprehend, 
and  therefore  the  problem  of  man,  as  a  particle  of  this 
huge  organism,  consists  in  sustaining  the  hfe  of  this  or- 
ganism and  all  its  living  parts.  Therefore  he  considered 
it  a  crime  to  destroy  animal  life  :  he  was  opposed  to  war, 
capital  punishment,  and  all  kinds  of  murder,  not  only  of 
men,  but  of  animals  as  well.  He  had  also  a  theory  of  his 
own  in  regard  to  marriage,  which  was  to  the  effect  that 
the  increase  of  the  human  race  was  only  a  lower  function, 
and  that  a  hit^her  function  consisted  in  serving  all  exist- 
iufj  life.  He  found  a  confirmation  of  this  idea  in  the 
jiresence  of  the  phagocytes  in  the  blood.  Unmarried 
people,  according  to  his  theory,  were  just  such  phagocytes, 
whose  purpose  was  to  aid  the  weak  and  ailing  parts  of  the 
organism.  From  the  moment  he  had  decided  this,  he 
began  to  live  accordingly,  though  in  his  early  youth 
he  had  been  dissipated.  He  regarded  himself,  as  also 
Marya  Pavlovna,  as  world  phagocytes. 

His    love    for   Katyusha   did   not   impair  tliis  theory, 


RESURRECTION  15 

since  he  loved  her  platonically,  assuming  that  such  a 
love  not  only  did  not  interfere  with  his  phagocyte  activ- 
ity of  social  help,  but  even  spurred  him  on  to  it. 

He  not  only  decided  moral  questions  in  his  own  way, 
but  also  a  great  number  of  practical  questions.  He  had 
his  owTi  theories  for  all  practical  af!airs.  He  had  his 
rules  about  the  number  of  hours  he  had  to  work,  to  rest, 
to  eat,  to  dress,  how  to  make  a  fire  in  the  stove,  and  how 
to  light  a  Ian]  p. 

At  the  same  time,  Simonson  was  exceedingly  timid 
with  people  and  modest.  But  when  he  made  up  his 
mind  for  something,  nothing  could  keep  him  back. 

It  was  this  man  who  had  a  decisive  influence  on 
Maslova  by  dint  of  his  love  for  her.  Maslova,  with  her 
feminine  sense,  soon  became  aware  of  it,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  able  to  provoke  love  in  so  unusual 
a  man  raised  her  in  her  own  estimation.  Nekhlyudov 
proposed  to  marry  her  as  an  act  of  magnanimity  and  on 
account  of  what  had  happened ;  but  Simonson  loved  her 
for  what  she  was,  and  loved  her  just  because  he  did. 
Besides,  she  felt  that  Simonson  considered  her  an  unusual 
woman,  differing  from  all  the  rest  and  having  certain 
special,  highly  moral  qualities.  She  did  not  exactly 
know  what  qualities  he  ascribed  to  her,  but,  in  order  not 
to  deceive  him,  slie  tried  to  rouse  in  herself  all  the  best 
qualities  of  which  she  could  think.  This  caused  her  to 
endeavour  to  become  as  good  as  she  was  capable  of  being. 

This  had  begun  even  in  the  prison,  when,  at  the  gen- 
eral interview  of  the  politicals,  she  had  noticed  the  pecul- 
iarly stubborn  look  of  his  innocent,  kindly,  dark  blue 
eyes  underneath  his  overhanging  forehead  and  eyebrows. 
She  had  noticed  even  that  he  was  a  peculiar  man  and 
that  he  looked  in  a  peculiar  way  at  her ;  she  had  remarked 
the  strange  and  striking  combination  in  one  face  of  sever- 
ity, produced  by  his  towering  hair  and  frowning  eye- 
brows, of  childlike  kindness,  and  of  the  innocence  of  his 


16  RESURRECTION 

glance.  In  Tomsk  she  was  transferred  to  the  politicals, 
and  she  saw  him  again.  Although  not  a  word  had  been 
said  between  them,  there  was  in  the  look,  which  they 
exchanged,  an  acknowledgment  of  their  remembering  each 
other  and  of  their  mutual  importance.  There  never  was 
any  long  conversation  between  them  even  after  that,  but 
Maslova  felt  that  whenever  he  spoke  in  her  presence,  his 
speech  was  meant  for  her,  and  that  he  was  speaking  in 
such  a  way  as  to  be  as  intelligible  as  possible  to  her. 
Their  closer  friendship  began  at  the  time  when  he 
marched  with  the  criminals. 


V. 

From  Nizhni-Novgorod  to  Perm,  Nekhlyudov  succeeded 
only  twice  in  seeing  Katyusha :  once  in  Nizhni-Novgorod, 
before  the  prisoners  were  placed  on  a  screened  barge,  and 
the  next  time  in  Perm,  in  the  prison  office.  At  either 
meeting  he  found  her  secretive  and  ill-cUsposed.  To  his 
question  whether  she  was  comfortable  and  whether  she 
did  not  need  anything,  she  replied  evasively,  in  an  em- 
barrassed and  what  to  him  seemed  hostile,  reproachful 
way  which  he  had  noticed  in  her  before.  This  gloomy 
mood,  which  in  reality  proceeded  from  the  persecutions  of 
the  men,  to  which  she  was  subjected  at  that  time,  vexed 
Nekhlyudov.  He  was  afraid  that  under  the  influence  of 
the  heavy  and  demoralizing  conditions  under  which  she 
lived  during  her  transportation,  she  might  again  fall  into 
her  old  discontentment  and  despair,  when  she  was  pro- 
voked against  him  and  smoked  more  heavily  and  drank 
hquor  in  order  to  forget  herself.  He  was  quite  unable  to 
assist  her  because  he  had  no  chance,  during  this  first  part 
of  her  journey,  of  seeing  her.  Only  after  she  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  poKticals,  he  not  only  convinced  himself  of 
the  groundlessness  of  his  fears,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
at  every  meeting  with  her  noticed  the  ever  more  clearly 
defined  internal  change,  which  he  had  been  so  anxious  to 
see  in  her.  At  their  first  meeting  in  Tomsk,  she  was 
again  such  as  she  had  been  before  her  departure.  She 
did  not  pout  nor  become  embarrassed  upon  seeing  him, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  met  him  joyfully  and  simply,  and 
thanked  him  for  what  he  had  done  for  her,  especially  for 

17 


18  RESURRECTION 

having  brought  her  in  contact  with  the  people  with  whom 
she  now  was. 

After  two  months  with  the  marching  party,  the  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  her  was  also  manifested  in  her 
looks.  She  grew  thinner  and  sunburnt,  and  looked  aged ; 
on  her  temples  and  around  her  mouth  wrinkles  appeared ; 
she  did  not  let  her  hair  hang  over  her  brow,  but  covered 
it  with  her  kerchief,  and  neither  in  her  dress,  nor  in  the 
manner  of  arranging  her  hair,  nor  in  her  address  were 
there  left  the  previous  signs  of  coquetry.  This  change 
which  had  taken  place  and  was  still  in  progress  con- 
stantly roused  an  exceedingly  pleasurable  sensation  in 
Nekhlyudov. 

He  now  experienced  a  feeling  toward  her  that  he  had 
never  experienced  before.  It  had  nothing  in  common 
with  his  first  poetical  rapture,  and  still  less  with  that 
sensual  love  which  he  had  experienced  later,  nor  even 
with  that  consciousness  of  a  duty  performed,  united  with 
egotism,  which  had  led  him  after  the  trial  to  decide  to 
marry  her.  This  feeling  was  the  simplest  sensation  of 
pity  and  contrition,  which  had  come  over  him  for  the 
first  time  during  his  interview  with  her  in  the  prison,  and 
later,  with  renewed  strength,  after  the  hospital,  when  he, 
curbing  his  disgust,  forgave  her  for  the  supposed  incident 
with  the  assistant,  which  was  later  cleared  up ;  it  was  the 
same  feeling,  but  with  the  difference  that  then  it  had 
been  temporary,  while  now  it  became  constant.  What- 
ever he  now  thought  or  did,  his  general  mood  now  was 
a  feeling  of  pity  and  humility,  not  only  in  respect  to  her, 
but  to  all  people. 

This  feeling  seemed  to  have  revealed  in  Nekhlyiidov's 
soul  a  stream  of  love,  which  formerly  had  had  no  issue, 
but  now  was  directed  toward  all  men  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact. 

Nekhlyudov  was  during  his  whole  journey  conscious 
of  that  agitated  condition  when  he  involuntarily  became 


RESURRECTION  19 

affable  and  attentive  to  all  people,  from  the  driver  and 
soldier  of  the  guard  up  to  the  chief  of  the  prison  and  the 
governor,  with  whom  he  had  any  business. 

During  this  time,  Nekhlyudov,  by  Maslova's  transfer  to 
the  politicals,  had  occasion  to  become  acquainted  with 
many  politicals,  at  first  in  Ekaterinbvirg,  where  they  en- 
joyed great  liberty,  being  all  kept  together  iu  a  large  hall, 
and  later  on  the  road,  with  the  five  men  and  four  women, 
to  whom  Maslova  was  added.  This  acquaintance  of 
Nekhlyudov  with  the  deported  politicals  entirely  changed 
his  view  of  them. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  the  revolutionary  move- 
ment in  Eussia,  but  especially  after  March  1st,  Nekh- 
lyudov was  animated  by  a  hostile  and  contemptuous 
feeling  for  the  revolutionists.  He  had  been  repelled 
above  everything  else  by  the  cruelty  and  secrecy  of  the 
means  used  by  them  in  their  struggle  with  the  govern- 
ment, more  especially  by  the  cruelty  of  the  murders 
committed  by  them ;  then  again,  their  common  feature  of 
self-conceit  was  disgusting  to  him.  But,  upon  seeing 
them  at  close  range  and  discovering  that  they  frequently 
suffered  innocently  from  the  government,  he  perceived 
that  they  could  not  be  anything  else  than  what  they 
were. 

No  matter  how  dreadfully  senseless  the  torments  were 
to  which  the  so-called  criminals  were  subjected,  a  certain 
semblance  of  lawful  procedure  was  observed  toward  them, 
even  after  their  judicial  sentence ;  but  in  respect  to  the 
politicals  there  was  not  even  that  semblance,  as  Nekh- 
lyudov had  noticed  it  in  the  case  of  Miss  Shustov,  and, 
later,  in  the  case  of  very  many  of  his  new  acquaintances. 
These  people  were  treated  as  fish  are  when  caught  with  a 
seine :  the  whole  catch  is  thrown  out  on  the  shore ;  then 
all  the  large  fish  that  can  be  used  are  picked  out,  and  the 
small  fry  are  left  to  die  and  dry  up  on  the  land.  Just 
so,  hundreds  of  men  who,  apparently,  were  not  only  inno- 


20  feESURRECTlOl? 

cent,  but  who  could  in  no  way  be  dangerous  to  the  gov- 
ernment, were  arrested  and  frequently  held  for  years  in 
prisons,  where  they  became  infected  with  consumption, 
or  grew  insane,  or  committed  suicide.  They  were  kept 
in  these  prisons  only  because  there  was  no  special  reason 
for  releasing  them,  whereas,  by  keeping  them  ia  jail,  they 
might  be  of  use  in  order  to  clear  up  certain  questions  at 
the  iuquest.  The  fate  of  all  these  people,  who  frequently 
were  innocent  even  from  the  government's  standpoint,  de- 
pended on  the  arbitrariness,  leisure,  and  mood  of  the  officer 
of  gendarmery  or  police,  of  the  spy,  prosecutor,  examining 
magistrate,  governor,  miuister.  If  such  an  official  got 
tired  and  wanted  to  distinguish  himself,  he  made  arrests 
and  held  the  people  in  prison  or  released  them,  according 
to  the  mood  he  or  the  authorities  happened  to  be  in. 
The  higher  officer  again,  according  to  whether  he  must 
distinguish  himself,  or  in  what  relations  he  was  with  the 
minister,  sent  them  to  the  end  of  the  world,  or  kept  them 
in  solitary  confinement,  or  sentenced  them  to  deportation, 
hard  labour,  or  capital  punishment,  or  released  them, 
if  a  lady  asked  him  to  do  so. 

They  were  treated  as  men  are  in  war,  and  they,  natu- 
rally, employed  the  same  means  which  were  used  against 
them.  And  just  as  the  military  always  hve  in  an  at- 
mosphere of  pubhc  opinion  which  not  only  conceals  the 
criminality  of  the  deeds  committed  by  them,  but  even 
represents  them  as  heroic,  —  so  there  existed  for  the 
politicals  a  favourable  atmosphere  of  public  opinion  in 
their  own  circle,  by  dint  of  wdiich  the  cruel  acts  com- 
mitted by  them,  at  the  risk  of  losing  liberty,  life,  and  all 
that  is  dear  to  man,  presented  themselves  to  them  not  as 
bad  deeds  but  as  acts  of  bravery.  Only  thus  could  Nekh- 
lyiidov  explain  the  remarkable  phenomenon  that  the 
meekest  people,  who  were  not  able  to  cause  a  living 
being  any  pain,  or  even  to  look  at  it,  calmly  prepared 
themselves  to  kill  people,  and  that  nearly  all  considered 


KESURRECTIOIsr  21 

in  certain  cases  murder,  as  a  means  of  self-defence  and  of 
obtaining  the  highest  degree  of  public  good,  both  lawful 
and  just.  The  high  esteem  in  which  they  held  their 
work  and,  consequently,  themselves  naturally  flowed  from 
the  importance  which  the  government  ascribed  to  them, 
and  from  the  cruelty  of  the  punishments  to  which  they 
were  subjected.  They  had  to  have  a  high  opinion  of 
themselves  in  order  to  be  able  to  bear  all  they  had  to  bear. 
Upon  knowing  them  better,  Nekhlyiidov  convinced 
himself  that  they  were  neither  the  unconditional  villains, 
as  which  they  presented  themselves  to  some,  nor  the 
unconditional  heroes,  such  as  others  held  them  to  be,  but 
ordinary  people,  among  whom  there  were,  as  everywhere 
else,  good  and  bad  and  mediocre  individuals.  There  were 
among  them  some  who  held  themselves  in  duty  bound  to 
struggle  against  the  existing  evil ;  there  were  also  others 
who  had  selected  this  activity  from  selfish,  vainglorious 
motives  ;  but  the  majority  were  attracted  to  revolution  by 
a  desire  for  danger,  risk,  and  enjoyment  of  playing  with 
their  own  lives,  —  feelings  which  are  common  to  all  ener- 
getic youth,  and  which  were  familiar  to  Nekhlyiidov  from 
his  military  hfe.  They  differed  from  other  people,  and 
that,  too,  was  in  their  favour,  in  that  their  requirements 
of  morality  were  higher  than  those  current  in  the  circle  of 
common  people.  They  regarded  as  obligatory  not  only 
moderation  and  severity  of  life,  truthfulness,  and  unself- 
ishness, but  also  readiness  to  sacrifice  everything,  even 
their  lives,  for  the  common  good.  Therefore  those  of 
them  who  were  above  their  average  stood  very  high  above 
it  and  represented  rare  examples  of  moral  excellence ; 
while  those  who  were  below  the  average  stood  much 
lower,  representing  a  class  of  people  that  were  untruthful, 
hypocritical,  and,  at  the  same  time,  self-confident  and 
haughty.  Consequently  Nekhlyiidov  not  only  respected, 
but  even  loved,  some  of  his  new  acquaintances,  while  to 
others  he  remained  more  than  indifferent. 


VI. 

Nekhlyudov  took  a  special  liking  to  a  consumptive 
young  man,  Kryltsov,  who  was  being  deported  to  hard 
labour  and  was  travelling  with  the  party  that  Katyusha 
had  joined.  Nekhlyiidov  had  met  him  for  the  first  time 
at  Ekaterinburg,  and  later  he  had  seen  him  several  times 
on  the  road,  and  had  conversed  with  him.  Once,  in 
summer,  when  they  halted  for  a  day,  Nekhlyiidov  passed 
nearly  all  that  day  with  him,  and  Kryltsov,  becoming 
communicative,  told  him  his  whole  history,  how  he  had 
turned  revolutionist.  His  story  previous  to  the  prison 
was  very  simple.  His  father,  a  rich  landowner  of  the 
southern  Governments,  had  died  while  he  was  still  a 
child.  He  was  an  only  son,  and  his  mother  brought  him 
up.  He  learned  well  both  in  the  gymnasium  and  in  the 
university,  and  graduated  at  the  head  of  the  list  in 
the  mathematical  department.  He  was  offered  a  place 
at  the  university  and  was  to  receive  a  travelling  fellow- 
ship. He  hesitated.  There  was  a  girl  whom  he  loved, 
and  he  was  considering  marriage  and  retirement  to  the 
country.  He  wanted  everything  and  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  for  anything  in  particular.  Just  then  his 
schoolmates  asked  him  for  a  contribution  to  the  common 
good.  He  knew  that  this  common  good  meant  the  revo- 
lutionary party,  in  which  he  was  not  at  all  interested  at 
the  time,  but  he  gave  them  money  from  a  feeling  of  com- 
radeship and  vanity,  lest  they  should  think  he  was  afraid. 
Those  who  had  collected  the  money  were  caught ;  a  note 
was  found,  by  which  it  was  discovered  that  the  money 

22 


RESURRECTION  23 

had  been  contributed  by  Kryltsov.     He  was  arrested  and 
confined,  at  first  in  the  police  jail,  and  then  in  prison. 

"  In  the  prison,  where  I  was  locked  up,"  Kryltsov  told 
Nekhlyildov  (he  was  sittiug  with  his  sunken  chest  on  a 
high  sleeping-bench,  leaning  on  his  knees,  and  now  and 
then  looked  at  Nekhlyiidov  with  his  sparkling,  feverish, 
beautiful  eyes),  "  there  was  no  especial  severity.  We  not 
only  conversed  with  each  other  by  means  of  knocks,  but 
met  in  the  corridors,  talked  to  each  other,  shared  our 
provisions  and  tobacco,  and  at  evening  even  sang  in 
choirs.  I  had  a  good  voice.  Yes.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  my  mother,  —  she  pined  away  for  me,  —  I  should 
have  been  satisfied  in  prison,  —  everything  was  pleasant  and 
very  interesting.  Here  I  became  acquainted,  arnong  others, 
with  the  famous  Petrov  (he  later  cut  his  throat  with  a  piece 
of  glass  in  the  fortress)  and  with  others.  I  was  not  a 
revolutionist.  I  also  became  acquainted  with  two  neigh- 
bours to  my  cell.  They  were  caught  in  the  same  affair, 
with  some  Polish  proclamations,  and  were  under  trial  for 
having  tried  to  escape  from  the  guard  as  they  were  being 
led  to  the  railroad  station.  One  of  them  was  a  Pole,  Lo- 
zinski,  and  the  other  a  Jew,  Eozovski  by  name.  Yes. 
Kozovski  was  nothing  but  a  boy.  He  said  he  was  seven- 
teen, but  he  did  not  look  more  than  fifteen.  He  was 
small  and  lean,  with  sparkling  eyes,  lively,  and,  like  all 
Jews,  very  musical.  His  voice  was  still  unformed,  but 
he  sang  beautifully.  Yes.  They  were  led  off  to  court 
while  I  was  in  prison.  They  left  in  the  morning.  In 
the  evening  they  returned  and  said  that  they  had  been 
condemned  to  capital  punishment.  Nobody  had  ex- 
pected it.  Their  case  was  so  unimportant :  they  had 
merely  tried  to  get  away  from  the  guard,  and  had  not 
hurt  anybody.  And  then  it  seemed  so  unnatural  to 
execute  such  a  boy  as  Eozovski  was.  All  of  us  in  the 
prison  decided  that  this  was  only  to  frighten  them,  but 
that  the  decree  would  never  be  confirmed.     At  first  all 


24  KESURRECTION 

were  stirred,  but  later  they  quieted  down,  and  life  went 
on  as  of  old.     Yes. 

"  One  evening  an  attendant  came  to  my  door  and  mys- 
teriously informed  me  that  the  carpenters  had  come  to 
put  up  the  gallows.  At  first  I  did  not  understand  what 
he  meant,  what  gallows  he  was  talking  about.  But  the 
old  attendant  was  so  agitated  that  when  I  looked  at  him 
I  understood  that  it  was  for  our  two  men.  I  wanted  to 
converse  by  taps  with  my  companions,  but  was  afraid 
that  they  might  hear  it.  My  companions  were  silent,  too. 
Apparently  everybody  knew  of  it.  There  was  a  dead  silence 
in  the  corridor  and  in  the  cells  all  the  evening.  We 
did  not  tap  nor  sing.  At  about  nine  o'clock  the  attend- 
ant again  came  up  to  my  door,  and  informed  me  that  the 
hangman  had  been  brought  down  from  Moscow.  He 
said  this  and  went  away.  I  began  to  call  to  him  to  come 
back.  Suddenly  I  heard  Eozovski  call  to  me  across  the 
corridor  from  his  cell :  '  What  is  the  matter  ?  Why  do 
you  call  him  ? '  I  told  him  that  he  had  brought  me  some 
tobacco,  but  he  seemed  to  guess  what  it  was,  and  con- 
tinued asking  me  why  we  did  not  sing,  and  why  we  did 
not  tap.  I  do  not  remember  what  I  told  him ;  I  went 
away  as  soon  as  I  could,  so  as  not  to  talk  to  him.  Yes. 
It  was  a  terrible  night.  I  listened  all  night  long  to  every 
sound.  Suddenly,  toward  morning,  I  heard  them  open 
the  door  of  the  corridor,  and  a  number. of  people  walking 
in.     I  stood  at  the  window  of  my  door. 

"  A  lamp  was  burning  in  the  corridor.  First  came  the 
superintendent.  He  was  a  stout  man,  and  seemed  to  be 
self-confident  and  determined.  He  was  out  of  counte- 
nance :  he  looked  pale  and  gloomy,  as  though  frightened. 
After  him  came  his  assistant,  scowling,  with  a  deter- 
mined look ;  then  followed  the  guards.  They  passed  by 
my  door  and  stopped  at  the  one  next  to  me.  I  heard 
the  assistant  calling  out  in  a  strange  voice :  '  Lozinski, 
get  up  and  put  on  clean  linen  ! '    Yes.    Then  I  heard  the 


RESURRECTION  25 

door  creak,  and  they  passed  in.  Then  I  heard  Lozinski's 
steps,  and  he  went  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  corridor. 
I  could  see  only  the  superintendent.  He  stood  pale,  and 
was  buttoning  and  unbuttoning  his  coat,  and  shruggiug 
his  shoulders.  Yes.  Suddenly  he  acted  as  though  some- 
thing had  frightened  him.  It  was  Lozinski,  who  went 
past  him  and  stopped  at  my  door.  He  was  a  fine-looking 
youth,  of  that  exquisite  Polish  type:  broad-chested,  a 
straight  forehead  with  a  head  of  blond,  wavy,  fine  hair, 
aud  beautiful  blue  eyes.  He  was  such  a  blooming, 
healthy,  vigorous  young  man.  He  stood  in  front  of  my 
door  so  that  I  could  see  his  whole  face.  It  was  a  terribly 
drawn,  gray  face. 

" '  Kryltsov,  have  you  any  cigarettes  ? '  I  wanted  to 
give  him  some,  but  the  assistant,  as  though  fearing  to  be 
late,  took  out  his  cigarette-holder  and  offered  it  to  him. 
He  took  a  cigarette,  and  the  assistant  hghted  a  match  for 
him.  He  began  to  smoke,  and  seemed  to  be  musing. 
Then  he  looked  as  though  he  had  recalled  something,  and 
he  began  to  speak :  '  It  is  cruel  and  unjust.  I  have  com- 
mitted no  crime.  I  — '  Something  quivered  iu  his 
youthful,  white  throat,  from  which  I  could  not  tear  my 
eyes  away,  and  he  stopped.  Yes.  Just  then  I  heard 
Kozovski  calling  out  something  in  the  corridor  in  his 
thin,  Jewish  voice.  Lozinski  threw  away  the  stump 
of  his  cigarette  and  went  away  from  the  door.  Then 
Eozovski  could  be  seen  through  the  window.  His  child- 
ish face,  with  its  moist,  black  eyes,  was  red  and  sweaty. 
He,  too,  was  clad  in  white  linen,  and  his  trousers  were 
too  wide  for  him,  and  he  kept  pulling  them  up  with  both 
his  hands,  and  was  trembUng  aU  the  while.  He  put  his 
pitiful  face  to  my  window  : 

" '  Anatoli  Petrovich,  is  it  not  so  ?  the  doctor  has 
ordered  me  to  drink  pectoral  tea.  I  am  not  well,  and 
I  will  drink  some.'  Nobody  answered  him,  and  he  looked 
questioningly  now  at  me,  and  now  at  the  inspector.     I 


26  RESURRECTION 

did  not  understand  what  he  meant  by  his  words.  Yes. 
Suddenly  the  assistant  looked  stern,  and  again  he  called 
out,  in  a  wheezy  voice :  '  Don't  be  jesting !  Come ! ' 
Eozovski  was  appareutlj^  unable  to  understand  what  was 
awaiting  him,  and  went  hurriedly  along  the  corridor, 
ahead  of  them  all,  almost  on  a  run.  But  later  he  stood 
back,  and  I  heard  his  piercing  voice  and  weeping.  They 
were  busy  about  him  and  a  thud  of  steps  was  heard.  He 
was  crying  and  whining  in  a  penetrating  manner.  Then 
farther  and  farther  away,  —  the  door  of  the  corridor  rang 
out,  and  all  was  quiet.  Yes.  They  hanged  them.  They 
choked  their  lives  out  of  them  with  ropes. 

"  Another  attendant  saw  the  hanging,  and  he  told  me 
that  Lozinski  offered  no  resistance,  but  that  Rozovski 
struggled  for  a  long  while,  so  that  he  had  to  be  dragged 
to  the  gallows  and  his  head  had  to  be  stuck  through  the 
noose.  Yes.  That  attendant  was  a  stupid  fellow.  '  I 
was  told,  sir,  that  it  was  terrible.  But  it  is  not.  When 
they  were  hanged,  they  moved  their  shoulders  only  twice,' 
—  he  showed  me  how  the  shoulders  were  raised  convul- 
sively and  fell.  *  Then  the  hangman  jerked  the  rope  so 
that  the  noose  should  He  more  tightly  on  their  necks, 
and  that  was  all :  they  did  not  stir  again.  It  is  not  at 
all  terrible,' "  Kryltsov  repeated  the  attendant's  words, 
and  wanted  to  smile,  but  instead  burst  out  into  sobs. 

He  was  for  a  long  time  silent  after  this  recital,  breathing 
heavily  and  swallowing  the  sobs  that  rose  to  his  throat. 

"Since  then  I  have  been  a  revolutionist.  Yes,"  he 
said,  calming  down,  and  then  he  finished  his  story  in  a 
few  words. 

He  belonged  to  the  party  of  the  Popular  Will,  and  was 
the  head  of  a  disorganizing  group,  whose  purpose  it  was 
to  terrorize  the  government,  so  that  it  might  itself  abdi- 
cate its  power  and  call  the  people  to  assume  it.  For  this 
purpose  he  travelled,  now  to  St.  Petersburg,  now  abroad, 
or  to  Kiev,  to  Oddssa,  and  he  was  everywhere  successful. 


RESURRECTION  27 

A  man  on  whom  he  fully  relied  l»etrayed  him.  He  was 
arrested,  tried,  kept  two  years  in  prison,  and  sentenced 
to  capital  punishment,  which  was  commuted  to  hard 
labour  for  life. 

In  prison  he  developed  consumption,  and  now,  under 
the  conditions  of  his  life,  he  had  evidently  but  a  few 
months  left  to  Hve.  He  knew  this,  and  did  not  regret 
what  he  had  done,  but  said  that  if  he  had  a  life  to  live 
over  he  would  use  it  for  the  same  purpose,  —  for  the 
destruction  of  the  order  of  things  which  made  possible 
what  he  had  seen. 

This  man's  history  and  the  companionship  with  him 
made  many  things  intelligiljle  to  Nekhlyudov  which 
heretofore  he  had  not  understood. 


VII. 

On  the  day  when,  at  the  start  from  the  halting-place, 
the  conflict  over  the  child  had  taken  place  between  the 
officer  of  the  guard  and  the  prisoners,  Nekhlyudov,  who 
had  passed  the  night  at  an  inn,  awoke  late,  and  for  a  long 
time  wrote  letters,  which  he  was  getting  ready  to  mail 
from  the  capital  of  the  Government ;  he  consequently  left 
the  inn  later  than  usual,  and  did  not  catch  up  with  the 
marching  party  on  the  road,  as  he  had  done  on  previous 
days,  but  arrived  at  evening  twilight  at  the  village,  near 
which  a  half-stop  was  made.  Having  changed  his  wet 
clothing  in  the  inn,  which  was  kept  by  an  elderly  widow 
with  a  white  neck  of  extraordinary  size,  Nekhlyildov 
drank  tea  in  the  clean  guest-room,  which  was  adorned 
by  a  large  number  of  images  and  pictures,  and  hastened 
to  the  halting-place  to  ask  the  officer's  permission  for  an 
interview. 

At  the  six  preceding  halting-places  the  officers  of  the 
guard,  although  several  changes  had  been  made,  all 
without  exception  had  refused  Nekhlyudov's  admission 
to  the  prison  enclosure,  so  that  he  had  not  seen  Katyusha 
for  more  than  a  week.  This  severity  was  caused  by  an 
expected  visit  from  an  important  prison  chief.  Now  the 
chief  had  passed,  without  as  much  as  looking  at  the  halt- 
ing-place, and  Nekhlyildov  hoped  that  the  officer  who  had 
in  the  morning  taken  charge  of  the  party  would,  like  the 
previous  officers,  permit  him  to  see  the  prisoners. 

The  hostess  offered  Nekhlyildov  a  tarantas  to  take  him 

to  the  halting-place,  which  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 

village,  but   Nekhlyildov  preferred    to  walk.     A  young, 

28 


RESURRECTION  29 

broad-chested,  powerful-looking  lad,  in  immense  boots 
freshly  smeared  with  tar,  offered  himself  to  take  him 
there.  It  was  misting,  and  it  was  so  dark  that  whenever 
the  lad  separated  himself  from  him  for  three  steps,  in 
places  where  the  light  did  not  fall  through  the  windows, 
Nekhlyudov  could  not  see  him,  but  only  heard  the  smack- 
ing of  the  boots  in  the  deep,  sticky  mud.  After  passing 
the  square  with  the  church  and  a  long  street  with  brightly 
illumined  windows,  Nekhlyiidov  followed  his  guide  into 
complete  darkness,  at  the  edge  of  the  village.  Soon,  how- 
ever, they  saw,  melting  in  the  fog,  the  beams  of  light  from 
the  lamps  which  were  burning  near  the  halting-place.  The 
reddish  spots  of  light  became  larger  and  brighter ;  they 
could  see  the  posts  of  the  enclosure,  the  black  figure  of 
the  sentry  moving  about,  the  striped  pole,  and  the  sentry 
booth.  The  sentinel  met  the  approaching  men  with  his 
usual  "  Who  goes  there  ? "  and,  finding  that  they  were  not 
familiar  persons,  became  so  stern  that  he  would  not  allow 
them  to  wait  near  the  enclosure.  But  Nekhlyudov's  guide 
was  not  disconcerted  by  the  severity  of  the  sentry. 

"  What  an  angry  fellow  you  are  ! "  he  said  to  him. 
"  You  call  the  under-officer,  and  we  will  wait." 

The  sentry  did  not  answer,  but  called  out  something 
through  the  small  gate,  and  stopped  to  watch  intently 
the  broad-shouldered  lad  as  in  the  lamplight  he  cleaned 
off  with  a  chip  the  mud  that  was  sticking  to  Nekhlyiidov's 
boots.  Beyond  the  posts  of  the  enclosure  was  heard  the 
din  of  men's  and  women's  voices.  About  three  minutes 
later  there  was  a  clanking  of  iron,  the  door  of  the  gate 
was  opened,  and  out  of  the  darkness  emerged  into  the 
lamplight  the  under-oflficer,  wearing  his  overcoat  over  his 
shoulders.  He  asked  them  what  they  wanted.  Nekhlyii- 
dov handed  him  his  previously  written  card,  asking  the 
officer  to  admit  him  on  some  private  matter,  and  begged 
him  to  take  it  in.  The  under-officer  was  less  severe  than 
the  sentry,  but  more  inquisitive.    He  insisted  upon  know- 


30  RESURKECTION 

ing  what  business  Nekhlyildov  had  with  the  officer,  and 
who  he  was,  apparently  scenting  a  prey,  and  not  wishing 
to  miss  it.  Neklilyiidov  said  that  it  was  a  special  busi- 
ness, and  asked  him  to  take  the  note  to  the  officer.  The 
under-officer  took  it,  and,  shaking  his  head,  went  away. 

A  little  while  after  his  disappearance  the  door  clanked 
again,  and  there  came  out  women  with  baskets,  with  birch- 
bark  boxes,  clay  vessels,  and  bags.  They  stepped  across 
the  threshold  of  the  door,  sonorously  babbling  in  their 
peculiar  Siberian  dialect.  They  were  all  dressed  not  in 
village  but  in  city  fashion,  wearing  overcoats  and  fur 
coats  ;  their  skirts  were  tucked  high,  and  their  heads  were 
wrapped  in  kerchiefs.  They  eyed  with  curiosity  Neklyii- 
dov  and  his  guide,  who  were  standing  in  the  lamplight. 
One  of  these  women,  obviously  happy  to  meet  the  broad- 
shouldered  lad,  immediately  began  to  banter  him  with 
Siberian  curses. 

"  You  wood-spirit,  the  plague  take  you,  what  are  you 
doing  here  ?  "  she  turned  to  him. 

"  I  brought  a  stranger  here,"  replied  the  lad.  "  What 
have  you  been  carrying  here  ? " 

"  Meats,  —  and  they  want  me  to  come  back  in  the 
morning." 

"  Did  they  not  let  you  stay  there  overnight  ? "  asked 
the  lad. 

"  May  they  squash  you,  you  fibber,"  she  cried,  laughing. 
"  Won't  you  take  us  all  back  to  the  village  ? " 

The  guide  said  something  else  to  her,  which  made 
laugh  not  only  the  women,  but  also  the  sentry,  and 
turned  to  Nekhlyudov : 

"  Well,  can  you  find  your  way  back  by  yourself  ? 
Won't  you  lose  your  way  ? " 

""I  shall  find  it,  I  shall." 

"  Beyond  the  church,  the  second  house  after  the  one  of 
two  stories.  Here  you  have  a  staff,"  he  said,  giving  Nekh- 
lyudov  a  long  stick,  which  was  taller  than  his  stature, 


RESURRECTION  31 

and  which  he  had  been  carrying,  and,  splashing  with  his 
immense  boots,  disappeared  in  the  darkness  with  the 
women. 

His  voice,  interrupted  by  that  of  the  women,  could  be 
heard  through  the  mist,  when  the  door  clanked  again, 
and  the  under-officer  came  out,  inviting  Nekhlyiidov  to 
follow  him  to  the  officer. 


VIII. 

The  half-stop  was  situated  like  all  the  other  half-stops 
and  full  stops  along  the  Siberian  road  :  in  the  yard,  which 
was  surrounded  by  pomted  pales,  there  were  three  one- 
story  buildings.  In  one  of  these,  the  largest,  with  lat- 
ticed windows,  the  prisoners  were  placed ;  in  another,  the 
guards  of  the  guard ;  and  in  the  third,  the  officer  and 
the  chancery.  In  all  three  houses  fires  were  burning, 
wliich,  as  always,  especially  here,  illusively  promised 
something  good  and  cosy  within  the  lighted  walls.  In 
front  of  the  entrance  steps  of  the  houses  lamps  were 
burning,  and  there  were  five  other  lamps  along  the  wall, 
illuminating  the  yard.  The  under-officer  took  Nekh- 
lyudov  over  a  board  walk  to  the  steps  of  the  smallest 
building.  Having  mounted  three  steps,  he  let  him  pass 
in  front  of  him  into  an  antechamber  which  was  lighted 
by  a  small  lamp  emitting  stifling  fumes.  At  the  stove 
stood  a  soldier,  in  a  coarse  shirt  and  tie  and  black  trou- 
sers ;  he  had  on  only  one  boot,  with  a  yellow  bootleg, 
and,  bending  over,  was  fanning  the  samovar  with  the 
other  boot.  Upon  seeing  Nekhlyudov,  the  soldier  went 
away  from  the  samovar,  took  off  Nekhlyiidov's  leather 
coat,  and  went  into  the  inner  room. 

"  He  has  arrived,  your  Honour  ! " 

"  Well,  call  him  in,"  was  heard  an  angry  voice. 

"  Go  through  the  door,"  said  the  soldier,  and  immediately 
began  to  busy  himself  about  the  samovar. 

In  the  next  room,  which  was  lighted  by  a  hanging 
lamp,  an  officer,  with  long  blond  moustache  and  a  very 

red  face,  dressed  in   an   Austrian    jacket,  which   closely 

32 


RESURRECTION  33 

fitted  over  his  broad  chest  and  shoulders,  was  sitting  at  a 
table  covered  with  remnants  of  a  dinner  and  two  bottles. 
The  warm  room  smelled  not  only  of  tobacco  smoke  but 
also  of  some  strong,  vile  perfume.  Upon  noticing  Nekh- 
lyiidov,  the  officer  half-raised  himself  and  almost  scorn- 
fully and  suspiciously  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  stranger. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ? "  he  said,  and,  without  awaiting 
a  reply,  called  through  the  door:  "  B^rnov,  will  you  ever 
get  the  samovar  ready  ?  " 

"  Right  away  ! " 

"I  will  give  you  such  a  right  of  way  that  you  will 
remember  me,"  cried  the  officer,  his  eyes  sparkling. 

"  I  am  bringing  it ! "  cried  the  soldier,  and  entered  with 
the  samovar. 

Nekhlyiidov  waited  until  the  soldier  had  put  down  the 
samovar  (the  officer  followed  him  with  his  small,  mean 
eyes,  as  though  choosing  a  spot  on  which  to  hit  him). 
When  the  samovar  was  down,  the  officer  began  to  steep 
the  tea,  then  he  took  out  of  a  lunch-basket  a  four- 
cornered  decanter  and  Albert  cracknels.  After  he  had 
placed  everythiug  on  the  table,  he  again  addressed  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  So  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  have  an  interview  with  a  lady  pris- 
oner," said  Nekhlyiidov,  still  standing. 

"  A  political  ?  That  is  prohibited  by  law,"  said  the 
officer. 

"  She  is  not  a  political,"  said  ISTekhlyudov. 

"  But  please  be  seated,"  said  the  officer. 

Nekhlyiidov  sat  down. 

"  She  is  not  a  poHtical,"  he  repeated,  "  but  at  my  re- 
quest she  has  been  permitted  by  the  higher  authorities  to 
go  with  the  politicals  —  " 

"  Ah,  I  know,"  the  officer  interrupted  him.  "  A  small 
brunette  ?  Yes,  you  may.  Won't  you  have  a  ciga- 
rette ? " 


34  RESURRECTION 

He  handed  Nekhlyiidov  a  box  with  cigarettes,  and, 
properly  filling  two  glasses  of  tea,  put  one  down  before 
Nekhlyiidov. 

"  If  you  please,"  he  said. 

"  I  thank  you.     I  should  like  to  see  —  " 

"  The  night  is  long.  You  will  have  plenty  of  time. 
I  will  have  her  called  out." 

"  Could  I  not  be  admitted  to  their  room,  without  call- 
ing her  out  ?  "  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  To  the  pohticals  ?     That  is  against  the  law." 

"  I  have  been  admitted  several  times.  If  there  is  any 
fear  that  I  might  transmit  something  to  them,  —  then 
you  must  not  forget  that  I  could  do  so  even  through  her." 

"  No,  not  at  all.  She  will  be  examined,"  said  the 
officer,  with  an  unpleasant  laugh. 

"  Well,  you  may  examine  me." 

"  Oh,  we  will  get  along  without  doing  so,"  said  the 
officer,  taking  the  uncorked  decanter  to  Nekhlyiidov's 
glass.  "  May  I  pour  in  some  ?  Well,  as  you  please. 
One  feels  so  happy  to  meet  an  educated  man  here  in 
Siberia.  Our  fate,  you  know  yourself,  is  a  very  sad  one. 
It  is  hard  when  a  man  is  used  to  something  else.  There 
is  an  opinion  abroad  that  an  officer  of  the  guard  must 
be  a  coarse  man,  without  any  education.  They  never 
consider  that  a  man  may  have  been  born  for  something 
quite  different." 

The  red  face  of  this  officer,  his  perfume,  his  ring,  but 
more  especially  his  disagreeable  laugh,  were  quite  repul- 
sive to  Nekhlyiidov ;  but  on  that  day,  as  during  his 
whole  journey,  he  was  in  that  attentive  and  serious  mood 
when  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  treat  any  person  frivo- 
lously or  contemptuously,  and  when  he  considered  it 
necessary  to  "  let  himself  loose,"  as  he  defined  this  rela- 
tion of  his  to  other  people.  Having  listened  to  the 
officer's  words  and  considering  his  mood,  he  remarked, 
seriously : 


RESUKKECTION  35 

"  I  think  that  in  your  occupation  you  can  find  consola- 
tion by  alleviating  the  suffering  of  the  people,"  he  said. 

"  What  suffering  ?     They  are  a  terrible  lot." 

"  Not  at  all  terrible,"  said  Nekhlyiidov.  '•  They  arc  just 
like  the  rest.  There  are  even  some  innocent  people  among 
them." 

"  Of  course,  there  are  all  kinds.  Of  course,  I  pity  them. 
Others  would  not  be  less  rigorous  for  anything,  but  I  try 
to  make  it  easier  for  them  whenever  I  can.  1  prefer  to 
suffer  in  their  places.  Others  will  invoke  the  law  on 
every  occasion,  and  are  even  ready  to  shoot  them,  but 
I  pity  them.  Will  you  have  another  glass  ?  Please,"  he 
said,  filling  his  glass  again.  "  What  kind  of  a  woman  is 
the  one  you  want  to  see  ? "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  an  unfortunate  woman  who  found  her  way  into  a 
house  of  prostitution,  and  there  she  was  accused  of  poi- 
soning, —  but  she  is  a  good  woman,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

The  officer  shook  his  head. 

"  Yes,  these  things  happen.  In  Kazan,  let  me  teU  you, 
there  was  one,  —  they  called  her  Emma.  She  was  a  Hun- 
garian by  birth,  but  her  eyes  looked  like  those  of  a  Persian 
woman,"  he  continued,  unable  to  repress  a  smile  at  the 
recollection.     "  She  was  as  elegant  as  any  countess  —  " 

Nekhlyudov  interrupted  the  officer  and  returned  to  his 
former  conversation : 

"  I  think  you  can  alleviate  the  condition  of  these  peo- 
ple while  they  are  in  your  power.  I  am  sure  that  if  you 
did  so,  you  would  experience  great  joy,"  said  Nekhlyudov, 
trying  to  speak  as  distinctly  as  possible,  just  as  one  speaks 
to  a  stranger  or  a  child. 

The  ofticer  looked  at  Nekhlyudov  with  sparkling  eyes, 
and  apparently  was  impatiently  waiting  for  him  to  get 
through,  so  as  to  give  him  a  chance  to  continue  his  story 
about  the  Hungarian  woman  with  the  Persian  eyes,  who, 
evidently,  stood  out  vividly  before  his  imagination  and 
absorbed  his  whole  attention. 


36  RESURRECTION 

"  Yes,  that  is  so,  I  will  admit,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  them  ;  but  let  me  finish  my  story  about  this  Emma. 
So  this  is  what  she  did  —  " 

"  This  does  not  interest  me,"  said  Xekhlyiidov,  "  and  let 
me  tell  you  outright  that,  although  I  formerly  was  differ- 
ent, I  now  despise  such  relations  with  women." 

The  officer  looked  in  a  terrified  way  at  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Won't  you  take  another  glass  ? "  he  said. 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  B^rnov ! "  cried  the  officer,  "  take  the  gentleman  to 
Bakiilov  and  tell  him  to  admit  him  to  the  special  room  of 
the  poHticals ;  the  gentleman  may  stay  there  until  roll- 
call." 


IX. 

Accompanied  by  the  orderly,  Nekhly^dov  again  went 
out  into  the  dark  yard  which  was  dimly  lighted  by  the  red- 
burning  lamps. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  a  guard,  whom  they  met, 
asked  the  one  who  was  guiding  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  To  the  special  room,  —  Number  5." 

"  You  can't  go  through  here  :  it  is  locked.  You  will 
have  to  go  through  that  porch." 

"  Why  is  it  locked  ? " 

"  The  under-officer  has  locked  it,  and  himself  has  gone 
down  to  the  village." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  go  this  way  !  " 

The  soldier  took  Nekhlyiidov  to  the  other  steps,  and 
went  over  a  board  walk  to  another  entrance.  Even  from 
the  yard  could  be  heard  the  din  of  voices  and  the  motion 
within,  such  as  one  hears  in  a  good  beehive  which  is  get- 
ting ready  to  swarm,  but  when  Nekhlyiidov  came  nearer 
and  the  door  was  opened,  this  din  was  increased  aud 
passed  into  a  noise  of  scolding,  cursing,  laughing  voices. 
There  was  heard  the  metalHc  sound  of  the  chains,  and  the 
familiar  oppressive  odour  was  wafted  against  him. 

These  two  impressions  —  the  din  of  the  voices  combined 
with  the  clanking  of  the  chains,  and  that  terrible  odour 
—  always  united  in  Nekhlyiidov  in  one  agonizing  feeling 
of  moral  nausea  passing  into  physical  nausea.  Both  im- 
pressions mingled  and  intensified  each  other. 

Upon  entering  the  vestibule  of    the  half-stop,  where 

stood  an  immense  stink-vat,  Nekhlyiidov  noticed  a  woman 

sitting  on  the  edge  of  this  vat,  while  opposite  her  stood  a 

37 


38  RESURRECTION 

man,  with  his  pancake-shaped  cap  poised  sidewise  on 
liis  shaven  head.  They  were  talking  about  something. 
When  the  prisoner  noticed  Nekhlyudov,  he  winked  and 
said  : 

"  Even  the  Tsar  could  not  retain  his  water." 

The  woman  pulled  down  the  skirt  of  her  •  cloak  and 
looked  abashed. 

From  the  vestibule  ran  a  corridor,  into  which  opened 
the  doors  of  cells.  The  first  was  the  family  cell ;  then 
followed  a  large  cell  for  unmarried  persons,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor,  two  small  rooms  were  reserved  for 
the  politicals.  The  interior  of  the  halting-place,  which, 
although  intended  for  150  prisoners,  held  450,  was  so 
crowded  that,  not  being  able  to  find  places  in  the  cells, 
they  filled  the  corridor.  Some  sat  or  lay  on  the  floor, 
while  others  moved  up  and  down,  carrying  full  or  empty 
teapots.  Among  the  latter  was  Taras.  He  ran  up  to 
Nekhlyudov  and  exchanged  a  pleasant  greeting  with  him. 
Taras's  kindly  face  was  disfigured  by  purple  discolorations 
ou  his  nose  and  under  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  We  had  a  fight,"  said  Taras,  smihng. 

"  They  are  fighting  all  the  time,"  the  guard  said,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  On  account  of  the  woman,"  added  a  prisoner,  who  was 
walking  behind  them.  "  He  had  a  set-to  with  F^dka  the 
bhnd." 

"  How  is  Fedosya  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"All  right.  She  is  well.  I  am  taking  this  boihng 
water  to  her  for  tea,"  said  Taras,  entermg  the  family 

cell. 

Nekhlyudov  looked  into  the  door.  The  whole  cell  was 
full  of  women  and  men,  both  on  the  sleeping-benches  and 
underneath  them.  The  room  was  filled  with  the  evapora- 
tions of  wet  clothes  getting  dry,  and  there  was  heard  the 
incessant  squeak  of  feminine  voices.     The  next  door  led 


RESURRECTION  39 

into  the  cell  of  the  single  persons.  This  room  was  even 
fuller,  and  even  in  the  door  and  out  in  the  doorway  stood 
a  noisy  crowd  of  prisoners  in  wet  clothes,  dividing  or  de- 
ciding something.  The  guard  explained  to  Nekhlyiidov 
that  the  foreman  was  paying  out  to  a  gambler  the  pro- 
vision money  which  had  been  lost  or  won  before  by 
means  of  small  tickets  made  out  of  playing-cards.  Upon 
noticing  the  under-officer  and  the  gentleman,  those  who 
stood  nearest  grew  silent,  hostilely  eyeing  them.  Among 
those  who  were  dividing  up,  Nekhlyiidov  noticed  Feddrov, 
the  hard  labour  convict  of  his  acquaintance,  who  always 
kept  at  his  side  a  miserable-looking,  pale,  bloated  lad 
with  arching  eyebrows,  and  a  repulsive,  pockmarked, 
noseless  vagabond,  of  whom  it  was  said  that  during  an 
escape  into  the  Tayga  he  had  killed  his  companion  and 
eaten  his  flesh.  The  vagabond  stood  in  the  corridor,  with 
his  wet  cloak  thrown  over  one  shoulder,  and  scornfully 
and  boldly  looked  at  Nekhlyiidov,  without  getting  out  of 
his  way.     Nekhlyudov  went  around  him. 

Although  this  spectacle  was  not  new  to  Nekhlyiidov, 
although  he  had,  in  the  last  three  months,  frequently 
seen  these  four  hundred  criminals  in  all  kinds  of  situa- 
tions,—  in  heat,  in  a  cloud  of  dust  which  they  raised 
with  their  feet  dragging  the  chains,  and  on  the  stops 
along  the  road,  and  in  the  yards  of  the  halting-places 
during  warm  weather,  where  appalling  scenes  of  open 
immorality  took  place,  —  he  experienced  an  agonizing 
feeRng  of  shame  and  a  consciousness  of  guilt  before  them 
every  time  he  went  in  among  them  and  felt  their  atten- 
tion directed  to  himself.  Most  oppressive  for  him  was 
the  fact  that  an  irrepressible  feehng  of  loathing  and  terror 
mingled  with  this  sensation  of  shame  and  guilt.  He 
knew  that,  under  the  conditions  in  which  they  were 
placed,  they  could  not  be  anything  else  than  what  they 
were,  and  yet  he  could  not  suppress  his  feeling  of  loath- 
ing for  them. 


40  RESURRECTION 

"  They  have  an  easy  time,  these  hangers-on,"  Nekhlyii- 
dov,  as  he  approached  the  door  of  the  politicals,  heard  a 
hoarse  voice  say,  adding  an  indecent  curse. 

There  was  heard  a  hostile,  scornful  laughter. 


X. 

As  they  passed  the  cell  of  the  unmarried  prisoners, 
the  under-officer,  who  accompanied  Nekhlyiidov,  said  to 
him  that  he  would  come  for  him  before  the  roll-call,  and 
went  back.  The  under-officer  had  barely  left  when  a 
prisoner,  holding  up  his  chains  over  his  bare  feet,  rapidly 
walked  up  close  to  Nekhlyiidov,  waftiDg  an  oppressive 
and  acid  smell  of  sweat  upon  him,  and  said  to  him,  in  a 
mysterious  whisper : 

"  Sir,  please  intercede !  They  have  roped  in  the  lad 
by  giving  him  to  drink.  He  called  himself  Karmanov 
to-day  at  the  roll-call.  Please  intercede,  for  I  cannot, — • 
I  shall  be  killed,"  said  the  prisoner,  looking  restlessly 
about,  and  immediately  walking  away  from  Nekhlyudov. 

What  this  man  informed  Nekhlyiidov  of  was  that 
prisoner  Karmanov  had  persuaded  a  lad  who  resembled 
him,  and  who  was  being  deported  for  settlement  in  Siberia, 
to  exchange  places  with  him,  so  that  the  one  who  was 
to  go  to  hard  labour  was  to  be  deported,  while  the  lad 
would  go  to  hard  labour. 

Nekhlyudov  knew  of  this  affair,  since  this  very  pris- 
oner had  informed  him  of  the  exchange  a  week  before. 
Nekhlyudov  nodded  in  token  of  having  understood  him 
and  of  his  willingness  to  do  what  he  could,  and,  without 
looking  around,  passed  on. 

Nekhlyudov  had  known  this  prisoner  all  the  way  from 
Ekaterinburg,  where  he  had  asked  him  to  get  the  per- 
mission for  his  wife  to  follow  him,  and  his  act  surprised 
him.  He  was  of  medium  size,  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
and  in  no  way  differed  from  an  ordinary  peasant.     He 

41 


42  RESURRECTION 

was  being  deported  to  hard  labour  for  attempted  rob- 
bery and  murder.  His  name  was  Makar  Dy^vkin.  His 
crime  was  a  singular  one.  He  told  Nekhlyudov  that 
the  crime  was  not  his,  Makar's,  but  his,  the  evil  one's. 
He  said  that  a  traveller  stopped  at  his  father's,  from 
whom  he  hired  a  sleigh  for  two  roubles  to  take  him  to  a 
village  forty  versts  distant.  His  father  told  him  to  take 
the  traveller  there.  Makar  harnessed  the  horse,  dressed 
himself,  and  drank  tea  with  the  traveller.  The  traveller 
told  him  at  tea  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  get  married 
and  that  he  had  with  him  five  hundred  roubles,  which  he 
had  earued  in  Moscow.  When  Makar  heard  this,  he  went 
into  the  yard  and  put  his  axe  in  the  straw  of  the  sleigh. 

"  I  do  not  know  myself  why  I  took  the  axe  along,"  he 
told  Nekhlyudov.  "  Something  told  me  to  take  the  axe 
with  me,  and  so  I  did.  We  seated  ourselves,  and  off  we 
went.  I  entirely  forgot  about  the  axe.  There  were  about 
six  versts  left  to  the  village.  From  the  cross-road  to  the 
highway  the  road  went  up-hill.  I  climbed  down  and 
walked  back  of  the  sleigh,  but  he  kept  whispering  to  me : 
•  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  When  you  get  into  the 
highway,  there  will  be  people,  and  then  comes  the  village. 
He  will  get  away  with  the  money.  If  anything  is  to  be 
done,  it  must  be  done  now.'  I  bent  down  to  the  sleigh, 
as  though  to  fix  the  straw,  and  the  axe  handle  seemed  to 
jump  into  my  hand.  He  looked  around.  'What  do  you 
mean  ? '  says  he.  I  swung  my  axe  and  wanted  to  bang 
at  him,  but  he  was  quick,  and  so  he  jumped  down  from 
the  sleigh  and  caught  me  by  the  hand.  '  What  are  you 
doing,  you  villain  ? '  He  threw  me  down  on  the  snow, 
and  I  did  not  even  struggle,  but  gave  myself  up.  He 
tied  my  arms  with  the  belt  and  threw  me  into  the  sleigh. 
He  took  me  straight  to  the  rural  oftice.  I  was  locked  in 
jail  and  tried.  The  Comnume  testified  to  my  good  record, 
aud  that  nothing  bad  had  been  noticed  in  me.  The 
people  with  whom  I  was  living  said  the  same.     I  had  no 


RESURRECTION  43 

money  to  hire  a  lawyer,"  said  Makar,  "  and  so  I  was  sen- 
tenced to  four  years." 

It  was  this  man  who  was  trying  to  save  his  country- 
man, although  he  knew  full  w^ell  that  he  was  risking  his 
life  in  the  attempt.  If  the  prisoners  had  found  out  that 
he  had  given  away  the  secret  to  Nekhlyudov,  they  would 
certainly  have  strangled  him. 


XL 

The  accommodation  of  the  politicals  consisted  of  two 
small  cells,  the  doors  from  which  opened  into  a  barred-off 
part  of  the  corridor.  Upon  entering  this  part  of  the 
corridor,  the  first  person  noticed  by  Nekhlyudov  was 
Simonson,  dressed  in  his  jacket,  and  squatting  with  a 
billet  of  pine  wood,  in  front  of  the  quiveriog  stove  door, 
which  was  drawn  in  by  the  current  in  the  brightly  burn- 
ing stove. 

Upon  seeing  Nekhlyudov,  he  looked  up  through  his 
overhanging  eyebrows,  without  rising  from  his  squatting 
position,  and  gave  him  his  hand. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come.  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you,"  he  said,  with  a  significant  look,  gazing  straight 
at  Nekhlyudov. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Later.     Now  I  am  busy." 

Simonson  again  began  to  attend  to  the  stove,  which  he 
fired  according  to  his  own  theory  of  the  minimum  waste 
of  heat  energy. 

Nekhlyudov  was  on  the  point  of  going  into  the  first 
door,  when  Maslova  came  out  of  the  other,  bending  down 
and  holding  a  bath-broom  in  her  hand,  moving  up  with 
it  a  large  mass  of  dirt  and  dust  toward  the  stove.  She 
had  on  a  white  bodice,  a  tucked-up  skirt,  and  stockings. 
Her  head  was  wrapped  against  the  dust  with  a  kerchief, 
which  reached  down  to  her  brows.  Upon  noticing  Nekh- 
lyudov, she  unbent  herself,  and,  all  red  and  agitated,  put 
down  the  broom  and,  wiping  off  her  hands  with  her  skirt, 
stopped  straight  in  front  of  him. 

44 


EESURRECTION  45 

"  Are  you  fixing  up  your  apartment  ? "  Nekhlyudov 
asked,  giving  her  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  my  old  occupation,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  There 
is  incredible  dirt  in  there.  We  have  been  doing  nothing 
but  cleaning." 

"  Well,  is  your  plaid  dry  ? "  she  turned  to  Simonson. 

"  Almost,"  said  Simonson,  looking  at  her  with  a  pecul- 
iar glance,  which  surprised  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Then  1  will  come  for  it,  and  will  bring  out  the  furs 
to  get  dry.  Our  people  are  all  there,"  she  said  to  Nekh- 
lyudov, going  into  the  farther  door,  and  pointing  to  the 
nearer. 

Nekhlyudov  opened  the  door  and  went  into  a  small 
cell  which  was  dimly  lighted  up  by  a  metallic  lamp  stand- 
ing low  on  a  sleeping-bench.  The  room  was  cold  and 
smelled  of  unsettled  dust,  dampness,  and  tobacco.  The 
tin  lamp  brightly  illuminated  those  who  were  around  it, 
but  the  benches  were  in  the  dark,  and  quivering  shadows 
were  also  on  the  walls. 

In  the  small  room  were  all,  with  the  exception  of  two 
men  who  were  in  charge  of  the  provisions,  and  who  had 
gone  off  to  fetch  boiling  water  and  victuals.  Here 
was  Nekhlyudov's  old  acquaintance,  Vyera  Efr^movua, 
grown  more  thin  and  yellow,  with  her  immense  frightened 
eyes  and  the  swollen  vein  on  her  forehead,  dressed  in  a 
gray  bodice,  and  wearing  short  hair.  She  was  sitting 
over  a  piece  of  newspaper  with  tobacco  upon  it,  and,  with 
a  jerky  motion,  was  filling  cigarette  wads. 

Here  was  also  Emiliya  Rantsev,  who,  so  Nekhlyudov 
thought,  was  one  of  the  most  charming  politicals.  She 
had  charge  of  the  external  housekeeping,  to  which  she 
managed  to  give  a  feminine  cosiness  and  charm,  even 
under  the  most  trying  circumstances.  She  was  seated 
near  the  lamp  and,  while  her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  over 
her  sunburnt  beautiful  arms,  with  agile  hands  was  clean- 
ing cups  and  saucers  and  placing  them  on  a  towel  which 


46  RESURRECTION 

was  spread  on  a  bench.  Emiliya  Kantsev  was  a  plain- 
looking  woman,  with  an  intelligent  and  gentle  expression 
of  her  face,  which  possessed  the  property  of  suddenly,  dur- 
ing a  smile,  transforming  itself  and  becoming  merry, 
lively,  and  enchanting;  she  even  now  met  Nekhlyvidov 
with  such  a  smile. 

"We  thought   you   had    gone   back   to   Kussia,"    she 

said. 

Here  also,  in  a  distant  corner  and  in  the  shade,  was 
Marya  Pavlovna,  who  was  doing  something  to  the  flaxen- 
haired  httle  girl  who  kept  lisping  in  her  sweet  childish 

voice. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  have  come !  Have  you  seen 
Katyusha  ?  "  she  asked  Nekhlyiidov.  "  See  what  a  guest 
we  have  ! "     She  showed  him  the  girl. 

Here  also  was  Anatoli  Kryltsov.  Haggard  and  pale, 
with  his  legs,  wrapped  in  felt  boots,  bent  under  him,  he 
sat,  stooping  and  trembling,  in  a  farther  corner  of  the 
sleeping-benches,  and,  putting  his  hands  in  the  sleeves  of 
his  short  fur  coat,  he  looked  at  Nekhlyiidov  with  feverish 
oyes.  Nekhlyiidov  wanted  to  go  up  to  him,  but  on  the 
right  of  the  door  sat  a  curly-headed,  red-haired  man  in 
spectacles  and  a  rubber  jacket,  conversing  with  pretty, 
smilmg  Miss  Grab(^ts.  This  was  the  famous  revolution- 
ist Novodvorov,  and  Nekhlyiidov  hastened  to  exchange 
greetings  with  him.  He  was  particularly  in  a  hurry  to 
do  this  because  of  all  the  politicals  of  this  party  this  one 
man  was  disagreeable  to  him.  Novodvorov  flashed  his 
blue  eyes  through  his  glasses  upon  Nekhlyiidov  and, 
frowning,  gave  him  his  narrow  hand. 

"  Well,  are  you  having  a  pleasant  journey  ? "  he  said, 
apparently  with  irony. 

"Yes,   there    are    many    interesting    things,"    replied 
Nekhlyiidov,  looking  as  though  he  did  not  see  the  irony, 
Imt  received  it  as  a  pleasantry,  and  went  up  to  Kryltsov. 
Nekhlyiidov's   appearance   expressed    indifference,  but 


RESURRECTION  47 

in  his  heart  he  was  far  from  being  indifferent  to  Novo- 
dvorov.  These  words  of  Novodvorov,  his  obvious  desire 
to  say  and  do  something  unpleasant,  disturbed  the  soul- 
ful mood  in  which  Nekhlyiidov  was.  He  felt  gloomy 
and  sad.  "  Well,  how  is  your  health  ? "  he  said,  pressing 
Kryltsov's  cold  and  trembling  hand. 

"  So  so.  Only  I  can't  get  warm,  —  I  got  so  wet,"  said 
Kryltsov,  hastening  to  conceal  his  hand  in  the  sleeve  of 
the  short  fur  coat.  "  It  is  as  cold  here  as  in  a  kennel. 
The  windows  are  broken."  He  pointed  to  broken  win- 
dows in  two  places  behind  the  iron  bars. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you  ?  Why  did  you  not 
come  ? " 

"  They  would  not  admit  me,  —  the  authorities  were  so 
strict.     Only  the  officer  of  to-day  proved  to  be  obliging." 

"  Well,  ]ie  is  obliging  !  "  said  Kryltsov.  "  Ask  Marya 
what  he  did  this  morning." 

Marya  Pavlovna,  without  rising  from  her  place,  told 
what  had  happened  with  the  little  girl  in  the  morning 
at  the  departure  from  the  halting-place. 

"  In  my  opinion,  it  is  necessary  to  make  a  collective 
protest,"  Vy^ra  Efr^movna  said,  in  a  determined  voice, 
looking  now  at  this  person,  now  at  that,  with  an  un- 
decided and  frightened  look.  "  Vladimir  has  made  a 
protest,  but  that  is  not  enough." 

"  What  protest  ? "  Kryltsov  muttered,  with  an  angry 
scowl.  Apparently  the  lack  of  simplicity,  the  artificial- 
ity of  the  tone,  and  the  nervousness  of  Vy^ra  Efr^movna 
had  long  been  irritating  him.  "  Are  you  looking  for 
Katyusha  ? "  he  turned  to  Nekhlyiidov.  "  She  has  been 
working,  —  cleaning  up.  They  have  been  cleaning  out 
this  room,  —  ours,  the  men's ;  now  they  are  working 
in  the  women's  room.  But  they  won't  get  rid  of  the 
fleas :  they  will  eat  us  up  alive.  —  What  is  Marya  doing 
there  ? "  he  asked,  with  his  head  indicating  the  corner 
in  which  Marya  Pavlovna  was. 


48  RESURRECTION 

"  She  is  combing  her  adopted  daughter,"  said  EmiHya 
Eantsev. 

"  And  won't  she  let  loose  her  vermin  on  us  ? "  asked 
Kryltsdv. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  regular  with  her.  She  is  clean  now," 
said  Marya  Pavlovna.  "  Take  her,"  she  turned  to  Emiliya 
Eantsev.  "  I  will  go  and  help  Katyusha.  And  I  will 
bring  him  the  plaid." 

Emiliya  Eantsev  took  the  girl,  and,  with  maternal  ten- 
derness pressing  to  herself  the  bare,  plump  little  hands  of 
the  child,  placed  her  on  her  knees  and  gave  her  a  piece  of 
sugar. 

Marya  Pavlovna  went  out,  and,  immediately  after, 
two  men  stepped  into  the  room  with  boiling  water  and 
victuals. 


XII. 

One  of  those  who  entered  was  an  undersized,  lean 
young  man  in  a  covered  short  fur  coat  and  tall  boots. 
He  walked  with  a  light,  rapid  gait,  carrying  two  large 
steaming  teapots  with  boiling  water  and  holding  under 
his  arm  bread  wrapped  in  a  cloth. 

"  Here  our  prince  has  made  his  appearance,"  he  said, 
placing  a  teapot  amidst  the  cups  and  giving  the  bread  to 
Maslova.  "  We  have  bought  some  fine  things,"  he  said, 
throwing  off  his  fur  coat  and  flinging  it  over  the  heads  to 
the  corner  of  the  benches.  "  Mark^l  has  bought  milk  and 
eggs ;  we  will  simply  have  a  party  this  evening.  Kiril- 
lovna,  I  see,  is  again  busy  with  her  aesthetic  cleanliness," 
he  said,  looking  with  a  smile  at  Emiliya  Eantsev.  "  Now, 
please,  get  the  tea  ready,"  he  turned  to  her. 

The  whole  exterior  of  this  man,  his  movements,  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  his  look,  breathed  vivacity  and  merri- 
ment. The  other  of  the  new  arrivals,  —  also  a  short, 
bony  man,  with  an  ashen-gray  face  that  had  very  pro- 
truding cheek-bones  and  puffed-up  cheeks,  with  beautiful, 
greenish,  widely  placed  eyes  and  thin  lips,  was,  on  the 
contrary,  gloomy  and  melancholy.  He  wore  an  old 
wadded  coat  and  boots  with  overshoes.  He  was  carry- 
ing two  pots  and  two  birch-bark  boxes.  Having  placed 
his  burden  in  front  of  Emiliya  Eantsev,  he  bowed  with  his 
neck  to  Nekhlyudov  in  such  a  way  that  he  kept  his  eyes 
on  him  all  the  time.  Then,  unwillingly  giving  him  his 
clammy  hand,  he  immediately  began  to  unload  the  provi- 
sions from  the  basket. 

49 


50  RESURRECTION 

These  two  political  prisoners  were  men  of  the  people : 
the  first  was  Peasant  Nabatov,  the  other  was  the  factory 
workman,  Marlv(51  Kondratev.  Markcil  had  found  his  way 
among  the  revolutionists  at  the  advanced  age  of  thirty-five, 
while  Nabatov  had  joined  them  at  eighteen.  Having, 
through  his  conspicuous  ability,  found  his  way  from  the 
village  school  to  the  gymnasium,  Nabatov  maintained 
himself  all  the  while  by  giving  lessons.  He  graduated 
with  a  gold  medal,  but  did  not  proceed  to  the  university, 
because  he  had  decided,  while  in  the  seventh  form,  to  go 
among  the  people  from  whom  he  had  come,  in  order 
to  enlighten  his  forgotten  brothers.  And  thus  he  did :  at 
first  he  accepted  a  position  as  scribe  in  a  large  village, 
but  he  was  soon  arrested  for  reading  books  to  the 
peasants  and  forming  among  them  a  Consumers'  Coopera- 
tive League.  The  first  time  he  was  kept  eight  months  in 
prison,  after  which  he  was  released  and  placed  under 
secret  surveillance.  After  his  liberation,  he  immediately 
went  to  another  village,  in  another  Government,  and 
there  established  himself  as  a  teacher,  contmumg  his  old 
activity.  He  was  again  arrested,  and  this  time  he  was 
kept  a  year  and  two  months  in  prison,  and  there  he  was 
only  strengthened  in  his  convictions. 

After  his  second  imprisonment,  he  was  sent  to  the 
Government  of  P^nza.  He  ran  away  from  there.  He 
was  again  arrested,  and,  having  been  incarcerated  for 
seven  months,  was  sent  to  the  Government  of  Arkhan- 
gelsk. From  there  he  ran  away  again,  and  was  again 
caught ;  he  was  sentenced  to  deportation  to  the  Yakutsk 
Territory ;  thus  he  had  passed  half  of  his  youth  in  prison 
and  in  exile.  All  these  adventures  did  not  in  the  least 
sour  him;  nor  did  they  weaken  his  energy,  —  on  the 
contrary,  they  only  fanned  it.  He  was  a  mobile  man, 
with  an  excellent  digestion,  always  equally  active,  cheer- 
ful, and  vivacious.  He  never  regretted  anything,  and 
never  looked  far  into  the  future,  but  with  all  the  powers 


RESURRECTION  61 

of  his  mind,  of  his  agility,  and  of  his  practical  good  sense 
worked  only  in  the  present.  When  he  was  at  liberty,  he 
worked  for  the  goal  which  he  had  set  for  himself,  namely, 
the  enlightenment  and  organization  of  the  working  classes, 
especially  of  the  peasants ;  but  when  he  was  imprisoned, 
he  just  as  energetically  and  practically  worked  for  inter- 
course with  the  external  world,  and  for  the  arrangement 
of  the  best  possible'  life,  under  the  given  conditions,  not 
only  for  himself,  but  for  his  circle.  Above  everything 
else  he  was  a  social  man.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  did 
not  need  anything  for  himself  personally,  and  he  was  sat- 
isfied with  anything,  but  for  the  society  of  his  friends  he 
was  exacting ;  he  could  do  all  kinds  of  physical  and  men- 
tal work,  without  laying  down  his  hands,  without  sleeping 
or  eating.  As  a  peasant,  he  was  industrious,  quick  to  see, 
agile  in  his  work,  naturally  temperate,  polite  without 
effort,  and  respectful  not  only  to  the  feelings,  but  also  to 
the  opinions  of  others. 

His  old  mother,  an  illiterate  widow,  full  of  supersti- 
tions, was  alive,  and  Nabatov  helped  her,  and,  whenever 
he  was  at  large,  came  to  see  her.  During  his  stays  at 
home  he  entered  into  the  details  of  Hfe,  aided  her  in  her 
work,  and  did  not  break  his  relations  with  his  companions, 
the  peasant  lads :  he  smoked  with  them  paper  cigarettes 
bent  in  the  shape  of  a  dog's  leg,  wrestled  with  them,  and 
pointed  out  to  them  how  they  were  all  deceived,  and  how 
they  must  free  themselves  from  the  deceptions  in  which 
they  were  held.  Whenever  he  thought  and  spoke  of 
what  the  revolution  would  give  to  the  masses,  he  always 
represented  to  himself  the  same  people  from  which  he 
had  issued,  only  with  land  and  without  masters  and 
officers.  The  revolution  was,  according  to  him,  not  to 
change  the  fundamental  forms  of  the  people's  life,  —  in 
this  he  differed  from  Novodvorov  and  Novodvorov's  fol- 
lower, Mark^l  Kondratev,  —  the  revolution,  in  his  opinion, 
was  not  to  tear  down  the  whole  structure,  but  was  only  to 


52  RESUREECTION 

arrange  differently  the  apartments  of  this  beautiful,  solid, 
immense,  old  building  which  he  loved  so  fervently. 

In  respect  to  religion,  he  was  also  a  typical  peasant : 
he  never  thought  of  metaphysical  subjects,  of  the  begin- 
ning of  all  things,  of  the  life  after  the  grave.  God  was 
for  him,  as  He  had  been  for  Arago,  a  hypothesis,  the  need 
of  which  he  did  not  feel  as  yet.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
concerned  about  the  origin  of  the  wiorld,  whether  it  had 
its  begiuning  according  to  Moses  or  to  Darwin,  and  Dar- 
winism, which  seemed  to  be  of  such  importance  to  his 
comrades,  was  for  him  just  such  a  play  of  imagination  as 
the  creation  of  the  world  in  six  days. 

He  was  not  interested  in  the  question  of  how  the  world 
was  formed,  because  the  question  how  to  live  best  in  this 
world  was  paramount  to  him.  Nor  did  he  ever  think  of 
the  future  life,  bearing  in  the  depth  of  his  soul  that  firm 
and  quiet  conviction,  common  to  all  toilers  of  the  soil, 
which  he  had  also  inherited  from  his  ancestors,  that,  as 
in  the  world  of  animals  and  plants  nothing  ever  comes  to 
an  end,  but  is  eternally  transformed  from  one  shape  into 
another,  —  the  manure  into  a  grain,  the  grain  into  a 
chicken,  the  tadpole  into  a  frog,  the  caterpillar  into  a  but- 
terfly, the  acorn  into  an  oak,  —  so  man  is  not  destroyed, 
but  only  changed  into  something  else.  This  he  believed, 
and  therefore  he  boldly  and  even  cheerfully  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  death  and  courageously  bore  all  suffering 
which  led  to  it,  but  did  not  like  and  did  not  know  how 
to  speak  of  it.  He  liked  to  work,  and  w^as  always 
occupied  with  practical  labours,  and  urged  his  comrades 
on  to  practical  labours. 

The  other  political  prisoner  in  this  party,  who  originated 
from  the  people,  Mark^l  Kondratev,  was  a  man  of  a  different 
type.  He  started  to  work  at  fifteen,  and  began  .smoking 
and  drinking  in  order  to  drown  his  dim  consciousness  of 
offence.  This  offence  he  became  conscious  of  for  the  first 
time  when  he,  with  other  boys,  was  called  in  to  look  at  a 


RESURRECTION  63 

Christmas  tree,  which  had  been  fixed  up  by  the  manu- 
facturer's wife,  and  received  as  a  present  a  penny  whistle,  an 
apple,  a  gilt  walnut,  and  a  fig,  while  the  manufacturer's  chil- 
dren received  toys  which  to  him  appeared  as  fairy  gifts,  and 
which,  as  he  later  found  out,  cost  more  than  fifty  roubles. 

He  was  thirty  years  old  when  a  famous  revolutionary 
woman  began  to  work  in  the  factory.  She  noticed  Kon- 
dratev's  marked  abihty,  began  to  give  him  books  and 
pamphlets,  and  to  speak  with  him,  explaining  to  him  his 
position  and  its  causes,  and  the  means  for  improving  it. 
When  the  possibility  of  freeing  himself  and  others  from 
the  position  of  oppression  in  which  he  was  was  clearly 
presented  to  him,  the  injustice  of  this  position  seemed 
even  more  cruel  and  terrible  than  before,  and  he  not  only 
passionately  wished  for  his  liberation,  but  also  for  the 
punishment  of  those  who  had  arranged  and  sustained  this 
cruel  injustice.  This  possibility,  so  he  was  told,  could  be 
got  through  knowledge,  and  so  Kondratev  devoted  himself 
ardently  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  It  was  not 
clear  to  him  how  the  realization  of  the  socialistic  ideal 
was  to  come  about  through  science,  but  he  believed  that, 
as  knowledge  had  manifested  to  him  the  injustice  of  his 
position,  so  it  would  also  remedy  this  injustice.  Besides, 
knowledge  raised  him  in  his  opinion  above  other  people. 
Therefore  he  quit  smoking  and  drinking,  and  employed 
all  his  spare  time,  of  which  he  had  now  more,  having  been 
made  a  material-man,  in  study. 

The  revolutionary  lady  taught  him  ;  she  marvelled  at 
the  wonderful  abihty  with  which  he  eagerly  devoured  all 
kind  of  knowledge.  In  two  years  he  had  learned  algebra, 
geometry,  and  history,  of  which  he  was  especially  fond, 
and  had  read  all  the  artistic  critical  hterature,  and 
especially  all  socialistic  works. 

The  revolutionist  was  arrested,  and  Kondratev  with 
her,  for  having  interdicted  books  in  his  room.  He  was 
put  in  prison,  and  later  deported  to  the  Government  of 


54  RESURRECTION 

Vologda.  There  he  became  acquainted  with  Novodvdrov, 
read  more  revolutionary  books,  memorized  everything,  and 
was  even  more  confirmed  in  his  socialistic  views.  After 
his  exile  he  became  the  leader  of  a  large  strike,  which 
ended  in  the  storming  of  the  factory  and  the  death  of  its 
director.  He  was  arrested  and  sentenced  to  loss  of  his 
civil  rights  and  exile. 

He  assumed  the  same  negative  attitude  toward  religion 
as  toward  the  existing  economic  order  of  things.  Having 
become  convinced  of  the  insipidity  of  the  faith  in  which 
he  had  been  brought  up,  and  having  with  difficulty  freed 
himself  from  it,  at  first  experiencing  terror  and  later  trans- 
port in  this  liberation,  he,  in  retribution  for  the  deception 
which  had  been  practised  upon  him  and  his  ancestors, 
never  ceased  venomously  and  maliciously  to  ridicule  the 
popes  and  the  religious  dogmas. 

He  was  by  habit  an  ascetic ;  he  was  satisfied  with  the 
smallest  allowance,  and,  like  all  people  who  are  early  used 
to  work  and  who  have  well-developed  muscles,  could  easily 
and  well  perform  all  kinds  of  physical  labour ;  but  he 
esteemed  leisure  more  than  anything,  because  it  gave  him 
in  prisons  and  at  the  halting-places  a  chance  to  continue 
his  studies.  He  now  pored  over  the  first  volume  of  Marx, 
which  book  he  kept  with  great  care  in  his  bag,  like  a  very 
precious  thing.  He  treated  all  his  companions  with  reserve 
and  indifference,  except  Novodvdrov,  to  whom  he  was  par- 
ticularly devoted,  and  whose  opinions  in  regard  to  all 
subjects  he  accepted  as  incontrovertible  truths. 

For  women,  on  whom  he  looked  as  a  hindrance  in  all 
important  matters,  he  had  an  unconquerable  contempt. 
However,  he  pitied  Maslova,  and  was  kind  to  her,  seeing 
in  her  an  example  of  the  exploitation  of  the  lower  classes 
by  the  higher.  For  the  same  reason  he  did  not  like  Nekh- 
lyudov,  was  incommunicative  with  him,  and  did  not  press 
his  hand,  but  only  offered  his  to  be  pressed,  whenever 
Nekhlyiidov,  exchanged  greetings  with  him^ 


xiii 

The  stove  burnt  up  brightly  and  warmed  up  the  room ; 
the  tea  was  steeped  and  poured  out  in  the  glasses  and 
cups,  and  whitened  with  milk ;  there  were  spread  out 
cracknels,  fresh  rye  and  wheat  bread,  hard-boiled  eggs, 
butter,  and  a  head  and  legs  of  veal.  All  moved  up  to  the 
place  on  the  benches,  which  was  used  as  a  table,  and  ate, 
and  drank,  and  conversed.  Emiliya  Rantsev  sat  on  a  box, 
pouring  out  the  tea.  Around  her  stood  in  a  crowd  all  the 
others,  except  Kryitsov,  who  had  taken  off  his  short  fur 
coat  and,  wrapping  himself  in  the  dry  plaid,  was  lying  in 
his  place  on  the  benches  and  talking  with  Nekhlyudov. 

After  the  cold  and  dampness  during  the  march,  after  the 
dirt  and  disorder  which  they  had  found  here,  after  all 
the  labours  they  had  to  expend  to  get  things  into  shape, 
after  taking  food  and  hot  tea,  —  all  were  in  a  most  happy 
and  cheerful  frame  of  mind. 

The  feeling  of  comfort  was  increased  by  the  very  fact 
that  beyond  the  wall  were  heard  the  thumping,  the  cries, 
and  the  curses  of  the  criminals,  as  though  to  remind  them 
of  their  surroundings.  Just  as  at  a  halt  in  the  sea,  these 
people  for  a  time  did  not  feel  themselves  overwhelmed  by 
all  the  humiliations  and  all  the  suffering  which  surrounded 
them,  and  so  they  found  themselves  in  an  elated  and  ani- 
mated mood.  They  spoke  of  everything,  except  of  their 
situation  and  of  what  awaited  them.  Besides,  as  is  always 
the  case  with  young  men  and  women,  especially  when  they 
are  forcibly  brought  together,  as  were  those  collected  there, 

there  had  arisen  among  them  all  kinds  of  concordant,  and 

55 


56  RESURRECTION 

discordant,  and  variously  interfering  attractions  to  each 
other.     They  were  nearly  all  of  them  in  love. 

Novodvorov  was  in  love  with  pretty,  sniihng  Miss 
Grab^ts.  Miss  Grab^ts  was  a  young  student  of  the 
Courses  for  Women,  who  was  exceedingly  httle  given  to 
thinking  and  who  was  quite  indifferent  to  the  questions 
of  the  revolution  ;  but  she  submitted  to  the  influence  of 
the  time,  in  some  way  was  compromised,  and  thus  deported. 
As  when  at  large  the  chief  interests  of  her  hfe  consisted 
in  having  success  with  men,  she  continued  the  same 
methods  at  the  inquest,  in  prison,  in  exile.  Now,  during 
the  journey,  she  found  consolation  in  Novodvorov's  in- 
fatuation for  her,  and  herself  fell  in  love  with  him. 
Vy^ra  Efr^movna,  who  was  prone  to  fall  in  love  but  did 
not  incite  love  to  herself,  though  she  always  hoped  for 
reciprocation,  was  in  love  now  with  Nabatov,  and  now 
with  Novodvorov.  There  was  something  in  the  nature  of 
love  which  Kryltsov  felt  for  Marya  Pavlovna.  He  loved 
her  as  men  love  women,  but,  knowing  her  attitude  toward 
love,  he  artfully  concealed  his  feeling  under  the  cloak  of 
friendship  and  gratitude  for  the  tender  care  which  she 
bestowed  upon  him.  Nabatov  and  Emiliya  Eantsev  were 
united  by  very  complex  love  relations.  As  Marya  Pav- 
lovna was  an  absolutely  chaste  girl,  so  Emiliya  Eantsev 
was  an  absolutely  chaste  wife. 

At  sixteen  years  of  age,  while  still  in  the  gymna- 
sium, she  fell  in  love  with  Eantsev,  a  student  of  the 
St.  Petersburg  University,  and,  when  nineteen  years  old, 
she  married  him,  while  he  was  still  attending  the  uni- 
versity. In  his  senior  year  he  was  mixed  up  in  some 
university  affair,  for  which  he  was  expelled  from  St. 
Petersburg,  aud  became  a  revolutionist.  She  left  her 
medical  courses,  which  she  was  attending,  followed  him, 
and  herself  turned  revolutionist.  If  her  husband  had 
not  been  the  man  he  was  —  she  considered  him  the  best 
and  cleverest  of  all  men  —  she  would  not  have  fallen  in 


RESURRECTION  57 

love  with  him,  and,  not  loving  him,  she  would  not  have 
married  him.  But  having  once  fallen  in  love  with  and 
married  the  best  and  cleverest  man  in  the  world,  as  she 
thought,  she  naturally  understood  life  and  its  aims  pre- 
cisely as  they  were  understood  by  the  best  and  cleverest 
man  in  the  world.  At  first  he  conceived  life  to  be  for 
study,  and  so  she  understood  life  in  the  same  sense.  He 
became  a  revolutionist,  and  so  she  became  one.  She 
could  prove  very  well  that  the  existing  order  was  impos- 
sible, and  that  it  was  the  duty  of  every  man  to  struggle 
with  this  order  and  to  endeavour  to  establish  that  polit- 
ical and  economic  structure  in  which  personality  could 
develop  freely,  and  so  forth.  She  thought  that  those 
were  actually  her  ideas  and  feelings,  but  in  reality  she 
only  thought  that  everything  which  her  husband  thought 
was  the  real  truth,  and  she  sought-  only  for  a  complete 
concord,  a  merging  with  the  soul  of  her  husband,  which 
alone  gave  her  moral  satisfaction. 

Her  parting  from  her  husband  and  from  her  child, 
whom  her  mother  took,  was  hard  for  her.  But  she  bore 
this  separation  bravely  and  calmly,  knowing  that  she 
bore  it  all  for  her  husljand  and  for  the  cause  which  was 
unquestionably  the  true  one,  because  he  served  it.  She 
was  always  in  thought  with  her  husband,  and,  as  she  had 
before  been  unable  to  love  anybody,  so  she  now  was 
unable  to  love  any  one  but  her  husband.  But  IsTabatov's 
pure  and  devoted  love  touched  and  disturbed  her.  He, 
a  moral  and  firm  man,  the  friend  of  her  husband,  tried  to 
treat  her  as  a  sister,  but  in  his  relations  with  her  there 
appeared  something  greater,  and  this  something  gi^eater 
frightened  them  both  and,  at  the  same  time,  beautified 
their  hard  life. 

Thus,  the  only  ones  who  were  completely  free  from 
any  infatuation  were  Marya  Pavlovna  and  Kondratev. 


XIV. 

Counting  on  a  separate  conversation  with  Katyusha 
after  the  common  tea  and  supper,  such  as  he  had  had 
on  previous  occasions,  Nekhlyudov  sat  near  Kryltsov  and 
talked  with  him.  Among  other  things,  he  told  him  of 
Makar's  request  and  of  the  story  of  his  crime.  Kryltsov 
hstened  attentively,  fixing  his  beaming  eyes  on  Nekh- 
lyiidov's  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  suddenly  said,  "  I  have  frequently  been 
thinking  that  we  are  going  with  them,  side  by  side  with 
them,  —  with  what  '  them '  ?  with  the  same  people  for 
whom  we  are  going  into  exile.  And  yet,  we  not  only  do 
not  know  them,  but  even  do  not  wish  to  know  them. 
And  they  are  even  worse :  they  hate  us  and  regard  us  as 
their  enemies.     This  is  terrible." 

"  There  is  nothing  terrible  in  this,"  said  Novodvorov, 
who  was  listening  to  the  conversation.  "  The  masses 
always  worship  power,"  he  said,  in  his  clattering  voice. 
"  The  government  is  in  power,  —  and  they  worship  it  and 
hate  us ;  to-morrow  we  shall  be  in  power,  —  and  they 
will  worship  us  —  " 

Just  then  an  outburst  of  curses  was  heard  beyond  the 
wall,  and  the  thud  of  people  hurled  against  the  wall, 
the  clanking  of  chwns,  whining,  and  shouts.  Somebody 
was  being  beaten.  &vi-i  somebody  cried  "  Help  ! " 

"  There  they  arC;  the  beasts !  What  communion  can 
there  be  between  them  and  us  ? "  quietly  remarked 
Novodvorov. 

"You  say  beasts?  And  here  l^ekhlyudov  -has  just 
told  me  of  an  act,"  Krylts6v  said,  irritated,  and  told  the 

58 


RESURRECTION  59 

story  of  how  Makar  had  risked  his  life  in  order  to  save  a 
couutryman  of  his.  "  This  is  not  bestiality,  but  a  heroic 
deed." 

"  Sentimentality  !  "  ironically  said  Novodvdrov.  "  It 
is  hard  for  us  to  understand  the  emotions  of  these 
people  and  the  motives  of  their  acts.  You  see  mag- 
nanimity in  it,  whereas  it  may  only  be  envy  for  that 
convict." 

"  You  never  want  to  see  anything  good  in  others," 
Marya  Pavlovna  suddenly  remarked,  in  excitement. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  see  that  which  is  not." 

"  How  can  you  say  there  is  not,  when  a  man  risks  a 
terrible  death  ? " 

"  I  think,"  said  Novodvorov,  "  that  if  we  want  to  do 
our  work,  the  first  condition  for  it  is "  (Koudratev  left 
the  book  which  he  was  reading  at  the  lamp,  and  atten- 
tively listened  to  his  teacher)  "  not  to  be  given  to  fancies, 
but  to  look  at  things  as  they  are.  Everything  is  to  be 
done  for  the  masses,  and  nothing  to  be  expected  from 
them.  The  masses  are  the  object  of  our  activity,  but 
they  cannot  be  our  colabourers,  as  long  as  they  are  as 
inert  as  they  are,"  he  began,  as  though  giving  a  lecture. 
"  Therefore  it  is  quite  illusory  to  expect  aid  from  them 
before  the  process  of  development  has  taken  place,  —  that 
process  of  development  for  which  we  are  preparing 
them." 

"  What  process  of  development  ?  "  Kryltsov  exclaimed, 
growing  red  in  his  face.  "  We  say  that  we  are  against 
arbitrariness  and  despotism,  and  is  not  this  the  most 
appalling  despotism  ? " 

"  There  is  no  despotism  about  it,"  Novodvorov  calmly 
replied.  "  All  I  say  is  that  I  know  the  path  over  which 
the  people  must  travel,  and  I  can  indicate  this  road." 

"  But  why  are  you  convinced  that  the  path  which  you 
indicate  is  the  true  one  ?  Is  this  not  despotism,  from 
which  have  resulted  the  Inquisition  and  the  executions  of 


60  RESURRECTION 

the  great  Revolution  ?  They,  too,  knew  from  science  the 
only  true  path." 

"  The  fact  that  they  were  mistaken  does  not  prove  that 
I  am,  too.  Besides,  there  is  a  great  difi'erence  between 
the  raving  of  ideologists  and  the  data  of  positive  economic 
science." 

Novodvdrov's  voice  filled  the  cell.  He  alone  was 
speaking,  and  everybody  else  was  silent. 

"  They  always  dispute,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna,  when  he 
grew  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  What  do  you  yourself  think  about  it  ? "  Nekhlyudov 
asked  Marya  Pavlovna. 

"  I  thiuk  that  Anatoli  is  right,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
obtrude  our  views  on  the  people." 

"  Well,  and  you,  Katyusha  ? "  Nekhlyudov  asked,  smil- 
ing, timidly  waiting  for  her  answer,  with  misgivings  lest 
she  say  something  wrong, 

"  I  think  that  the  common  people  are  maltreated,"  she 
said,  flaming  up ;  "  they  are  dreadfully  maltreated." 

"  Correct,  ]\Iikhaylovna,  correct,"  cried  Nabatov.  "  The 
people  are  dreadfully  maltreated.  They  must  not  be,  and 
it  is  our  business  to  see  that  they  are  not." 

"  A  strange  conception  about  the  problems  of  the  rev- 
olution," said  Novodvorov,  growing  silent  and  angrily 
smoking  a  cigarette. 

"  I  cannot  speak  with  him,"  Kryltsdv  said,  in  a  whis- 
per, and  grew  silent. 

"  It  is  much  better  not  to  speak,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 


XV. 

Although  Novodvorov  was  very  much  respected  by 
all  the  revolutionists  and  passed  for  a  very  clever  man, 
Nekhlyudov  counted  him  among  those  revolutionists  who, 
standing  by  their  moral  qualities  below  the  average,  were 
very  much  below  it.  The  mental  powers  of  this  man  — 
his  numerator  —  were  very  great ;  but  his  own  opinion 
about  himself  —  his  denominator — was  unbounded  and 
had  long  ago  outgrown  his  mental  powers. 

He  was  a  man  of  a  diametrically  different  composition 
of  spiritual  hfe  from  Simonson.  Simonson  was  one  of 
those  men,  of  a  preeminently  masculine  turn,  whose  acts 
flow  from  the  activity  of  their  minds,  and  are  determined 
by  them.  But  Novodvorov  belonged  to  the  category  of 
men,  of  a  preeminently  feminine  turn,  whose  activity 
of  mind  is  directed  partly  to  the  realization  of  the  aims 
posited  by  their  feelings,  and  partly  to  the  justification  of 
their  deeds  evoked  by  their  feelings. 

Novodvorov's  whole  revolutionary  activity,  in  spite  of 
his  ability  eloquently  to  explain  it  by  conclusive  proofs, 
presented  itself  to  Nekhlyudov  as  based  only  on  vanity, 
on  a  desire  to  be  a  leader  among  men.  Thanks  to  his 
ability  to  appropriate  the  ideas  of  others  and  correctly  to 
transmit  them,  he  was  at  first  a  leader,  during  the  period 
of  his  studies,  among  his  teachers  and  fellow  students, 
where  this  ability  is  highly  valued,  —  in  the  gymnasium, 
in  the  university,  and  while  working  for  his  master's 
degree,  —  and  he  was  satisfied.  But  when  he  received 
his  diploma  and  stopped  studying,  and  this  leadership 
came  to  an  end,  he  suddenly,  so  Kryltsov,  who  did  not 

61 


62  RESURRECTION 

like  Novodvdrov,  told  Nekhlyudov,  completely  changed 
his  views,  and  from  a  progressive  liberal  became  a  rabid 
adherent  of  the  Popular  Will.  Thanks  to  the  absence  in 
his  character  of  moral  and  aesthetic  qualities,  which  call 
forth  doubts  and  wavering,  he  soon  occupied  in  the  revo- 
lutionary world  the  position  of  a  leader  of  the  party, 
which  satisfied  his  egotism. 

Having  once  and  for  all  chosen  his  direction,  he  never 
doubted  nor  wavered,  and  therefore  he  was  convinced 
that  he  was  never  in  error.  Everything  seemed  unusu- 
ally simple,  clear,  incontrovertible.  And,  in  reality,  with 
the  narrowness  and  one-sidedness  of  his  views,  every- 
thing was  simple  and  clear,  and  all  that  was  necessary, 
as  he  said,  was  to  be  logical.  His  self-confidence  was  so 
great  that  it  could  only  repel  people  or  subdue  them. 
And  as  his  activity  was  displayed  among  very  young  peo- 
ple, who  accepted  his  boundless  self-confidence  for  depth 
of  thought  and  wisdom,  he  had  a  great  success  in  revolu- 
tionary circles.  His  activity  consisted  in  preparing  for 
an  uprising,  when  he  would  take  the  government  in  his 
hand,  and  would  call  a  popular  parliament.  To  tliis  par- 
liament was  to  be  submitted  a  programme  which  he  had 
composed.  He  was  absolutely  convinced  that  this  pro- 
gramme exhausted  all  the  questions,  and  that  it  had  to 
be  carried  out  without  fail. 

His  companions  respected  him  for  his  boldness  and 
determination,  but  did  not  love  him.  He  himself  did  not 
love  anybody,  and  looked  upon  all  prominent  people  as 
his  rivals ;  he  would  gladly  have  treated  them  as  male 
monkeys  treat  the  young  ones,  if  he  could.  He  would 
have  torn  out  all  the  mind,  all  the  ability  from  other  peo- 
ple, so  that  they  might  not  interfere  with  the  manifesta- 
tion of  his  own  ability.  He  was  in  good  relations  with 
only  such  people  as  bowed  down  before  him.  In  such 
a  manner  he  bore  himself,  on  the  road,  toward  the 
workman  Kondratev,  who  had  been  gained  for  the  propa- 


RESURRECTION  63 

ganda  by  him,  and  toward  Vy^ra  Efremovna  and  pretty 
Miss  Grab^ts,  both  of  whom  were  in  love  with  him. 
Though  by  principle  he  was  for  the  woman  question,  yet, 
in  the  depth  of  his  soul,  he  regarded  all  women  as  stupid 
and  insignificant,  with  the  exception  of  those  with  whom 
he  frequently  was  sentimentally  in  love,  as  now  with 
Miss  Grab^ts,  and  in  that  ease  he  considered  them  to  be 
unusual  women,  whose  worth  he  alone  was  capable  of 
appreciating. 

The  question  about  the  relation  of  the  sexes,  like  all 
other  questions,  seemed  very  simple  and  clear  to  him, 
and  was  fully  solved  by  free  love. 

He  had  one  fictitious  and  one  real  wife :  he  had  sepa- 
rated from  the  latter,  having  become  convinced  that  there 
was  no  real  love  between  them,  and  now  he  intended  to 
enter  into  a  new  free  marriage  with  Miss  Grabets. 

He  despised  ISTekhlyildov  for  being  "  finical "  with  Mas- 
lova,  as  he  called  it,  and  especially  for  allowing  himself  to 
think  about  the  faults  of  the  existing  order  and  about  the 
means  for  its  improvement,  not  only  not  word  for  word 
as  he  himself  did,  but  even  in  a  special,  prmcely,  that  is, 
stupid,  manner.  Nekhlyudov  knew  that  Novodvorov  had 
this  feeling  toward  him,  and,  to  his  own  sorrow,  he  felt 
that,  in  spite  of  the  benevolent  mood  in  which  he  was 
during  his  journey,  he  paid  him  with  the  same  coin,  and 
he  was  quite  unable  to  suppress  his  strong  antipathy  for 
that  man. 


XVI. 

In  the  neighbouring  cell  were  heard  voices  of  the 
authorities.  Everything  grew  quiet,  and  immediately 
afterward  the  under-officer  entered  with  two  guards. 
This  was  the  roll-call.  The  under-ofRcer  counted  all, 
pointing  his  finger  at  each  jjerson.  When  it  came  to 
Nekhlyudov's  turn,  he  said,  with  good-hearted  familiarity  : 

"  Now,  prince,  after  the  roll-call  you  can't  remain  here 
any  longer.     You  must  leave." 

Nekhlyudov  knew  what  this  meant,  and  so  he  went  up 
to  him  and  put  three  roubles,  which  he  had  held  ready, 
into  his  hand. 

"  Well,  what  can  I  do  with  you  ?  Stay  awhile  longer  !  " 
The  under-officer  wanted  to  leave,  when  another  under- 
officer  entered,  and  after  him  a  tall,  lean  prisoner  with 
a  black  eye  and  scant  beard. 

"  I  come  to  see  about  the  girl,"  said  the  prisoner. 

"  Here  is  father,"  was  suddenly  heard  a  melodious 
child's  voice,  and  a  blond-haired  little  head  rose  back  of 
Mrs.  Eantsev,  who,  with  Marya  Pavlovna  and  Katyusha 
was  sewing  a  new  dress  for  the  child  from  a  skirt  which 
she  herself  had  offered  for  the  purpose. 

"  I,  daughter,  I,"  tenderly  said  Kuzovkin. 

"  She  is  comfortable  here,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna,  com- 
passionately looking  into  Buzovkin's  mauled  face.  "  Leave 
her  here  with  us  !  " 

"  The  ladies  are  sewing  a  new  garment  for  me,"  said 
the  girl,  showing  her  father  Mrs.  Ilantsev's  work.  "  It  is 
nice,  —  a  red  one,"  she  lisped. 

64 


RESURRECTION  65 

"  Do  you  want  to  stay  overnight  with  us  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Rantsev,  stroking  the  girl. 

"  Yes.     And  father,  too." 

Mrs.  Eantsev  beamed  with  a  smile. 

"  Father  can't,"  she  said.  "  So  leave  her  here,"  she 
turned  to  her  father. 

"  Please  leave  her,"  said  the  roll-call  under-officer, 
stopping  in  the  door  and  going  away  with  the  other 
under-officer. 

The  moment  the  guards  left,  Nabatov  went  up  to 
Buzovkin  and,  touching  his  shoulder,  said : 

"  Say,  friend,  is  it  true  that  Karmanov  wants  to  change 
places  ? " 

Buzovkin's  good-natured,  kindly  face  suddenly  became 
sad,  and  his  eyes  were  covered  by  films. 

"  We  have  not  heard.  Hardly,"  he  said,  and,  without 
losing  the  films  over  his  eyes,  he  added  :  "  Well,  Aksyutka, 
have  a  good  time  with  the  ladies,"  and  hastened  to  go  out. 

"  He  knows  everything,  and  it  is  true  that  they  have 
exchanged,"  said  Nabatov.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  the  authorities  in  town.  I  know  them 
both  by  sight,"  said  Nekhlyiidov. 

Everybody  was  silent,  apparently  fearing  the  renewal 
of  the  dispute. 

Simonson,  who  had  all  the  time  been  lying  in  silence 
in  a  corner  of  the  benches,  with  his  arms  thrown  back  of 
his  head,  rose  with  determination  and,  carefully  walking 
around  those  who  were  sitting  up,  went  up  to  Nekh- 
lyiidov. 

"  Can  you  listen  to  me  now  ? " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  getting  up  in  order  to 
follow  him. 

Looking  at  Nekhlyiidov,  as  he  was  getting  up,  and  her 
eyes  meeting  his,  Katyusha  grew  red  in  her  face  and  shook 
her  head,  as  though  in  doubt. 


66  RESURRECTIOK 

"  This  is  what  I  have  to  say,"  began  Siraonson,  when 
he  had  reached  the  corridor  with  Nekhlyiidov.  In  the 
corridor  the  din  and  the  explosions  of  the  prisoners' 
voices  were  quite  audible.  Nekhlyudov  frowned  at  them, 
but  Simon  son  was  evidently  not  disturbed  by  them. 

"Knowing  of  your  relations  with  Katerina  Mikhay- 
lovna,"  he  began,  looking  with  his  kindly  eyes  straight  at 
Nekhlyiidov's  countenance,  "  I  consider  it  my  duty,"  he 
continued,  but  was  compelled  to  stop,  because  near  the 
door  two  voices  were  quarrelling  about  something,  shouting 
both  together. 

"  I  am  telHng  you,  dummy,  it  is  not  mine,"  cried  one 
voice. 

"  Choke  yourself,  devil,"  the  other  exclaimed,  hoarsely. 

Just  then  Marya  Pavlovna  came  out  into  the  corridor. 

"How  can  you  talk  here,"  she  said.  "Go  in  here. 
There  is  none  but  Vy^ra  there."  And  she  walked  ahead 
into  the  adjoining  door  of  a  tiny  single  cell,  which  was 
now  turned  over  to  the  use  of  the  political  women.  On 
the  benches,  covering  up  her  head,  lay  Vy^ra  Efr^movna. 

"  She  has  megrim.  She  is  asleep  and  does  not  hear ; 
and  I  will  go  out,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna. 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  may  stay,"  said  Simonson.  "  I 
have  no  secrets  from  anybody,  least  of  all  from  you." 

"All  right,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna,  and  in  childish 
fashion  moving  her  whole  body  from  side  to  side,  and 
with  this  motion  receding  farther  and  farther  on  the 
benches,  she  got  ready  to  listen,  looking  with  her  beautiful 
sheep  eyes  somewhere  into  the  distance. 

"  So  this  is  what  I  have  to  say,"  repeated  Simonson. 
«  Knowing  your  relations  with  Katerina  Mikhaylovna,  I 
consider  it  my  duty  to  inform  you  of  my  relations  with  her." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  asked  Nekhlyildov,  involuntarily 
admiring  the  simplicity  and  truthfulness  with  which 
Simonson  spoke  to  him. 

"  I  should  like  to  marry  Katerina  Mikhayloyna  —  " 


RESURRECTION  67 

"Wonderful,"  said  Mary  a  Pavlovna,  resting  her  eyes 
upon  Simonson. 

"  —  and  I  have  decided  to  ask  her  about  it,  —  to 
become  my  wife,"  continued  Simonson. 

"  What  can  I  do  here  ?  This  depends  upon  her,"  said 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  Yes,  but  she  will  not  decide  this  question  without  you." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Because,  as  long  as  the  question  of  your  relations  with 
her  is  not  definitely  solved,  she  cannot  choose  any- 
thing." 

"  From  my  side  the  question  is  definitely  solved.  I 
wished  to  do  that  which  I  regarded  as  my  duty,  and, 
besides,  I  wanted  to  alleviate  her  condition,  but  under  no 
consideration  do  I  wish  to  exert  any  pressure." 

"  Yes,  but  she  does  not  wish  your  sacrifice." 

"  There  is  no  sacrifice  whatsoever." 

"  But  I  know  that  this  decision  of  hers  is  unshakable." 

"  Why,  then,  should  you  speak  with  me  ? "  said  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  She  must  be  sure  that  you  accept  the  same  view." 

"  How  can  I  say  that  I  must  not  do  that  which  I  con- 
sider my  duty  to  do  ?  All  I  can  say  is  that  I  am  not 
free  to  do  as  I  please,  but  she  is." 

Simonson  was  silent  for  awhile,  lost  in  thought. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  tell  her  so.  Don't  imagine  that  I 
am  in  love  with  her,"  he  continued.  "  I  love  her  as 
a  beautiful,  rare  person  who  has  suffered  much.  I  want 
nothing  from  her,  but  I  am  very  anxious  to  help  her,  to 
alleviate  her  con —  " 

Nekhlyudov  was  surprised  to  hear  Simonson's  voice 
quiver. 

"  —  to  alleviate  her  condition,"  continued  Simonson. 
"  If  she  does  not  want  to  accept  your  aid,  let  her  accept 
mine.  If  she  consented  to  it,  I  should  petition  to  be  sent 
into  exile  with  her.     Four  years  are  not  an  eternity.     I 


68  RESURRECTION 

should  be  living  near  her,  and  might  be  able  to  ease  her 
fate  —  "    He  again  stopped  from  agitation. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  "  said  Nekhlyiidov.  "  I  am  glad 
she  has  found  such  a  protector  in  you  —  " 

"  It  is  this  which  I  wanted  to  find  out,"  continued 
Simonson.  "I  wanted  to  know  whether,  in  loving  her 
and  wishing  her  good,  you  would  regard  as  good  her  mar- 
rying me  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  Nekhlyudov  said,  with  determination. 

"  I  am  concerned  only  about  her.  I  want  to  see  this 
suffering  soul  at  rest,"  said  Simonson,  looking  at  Nekhlyu- 
dov with  childish  tenderness,  such  as  could  hardly  have 
been  expected  from  a  man  of  such  gloomy  aspect. 

Simonson  arose  and,  taking  Nekhlyudov  by  the  hand, 
drew  his  face  toward  him,  smiled  shamefacedly,  and  kissed 
him. 

"  I  will  tell  her  so,"  he  said,  going  out. 


XVII. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna.  "  He  is  in 
love,  just  in  love.  I  should  never  have  expected  Vladi- 
mir Simonson  to  fall  in  love  in  such  a  stupid  and  boyish 
way.  Wonderful !  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  pains  me," 
she  concluded,  with  a  sigh. 

"  How  about  Katyusha  ?  How  do  you  think  she  looks 
upon  it  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

"  She  ? "  Mdrya  Pavlovna  stopped,  apparently  wishing 
to  reply  to  the  question  as  precisely  as  possible.  "  She  ? 
You  see,  notwithstanding  her  past,  she  is  by  nature  one  of 
the  most  moral  persons  —  and  her  feelings  are  refined  — 
She  loves  you,  loves  you  well,  and  is  happy  to  be  able 
to  do  you  at  least  the  negative  good  of  not  getting  you 
entangled  through  herself.  For  her,  marrying  you  would 
be  a  terrible  fall,  worse  than  her  former  fall,  and  so  she 
will  never  consent  to  it.  At  the  same  time  your  presence 
agitates  her." 

"  Well,  then  I  had  better  disappear  ? "  said  Nekhlyu- 
dov. 

Marya  Pavlovna  smiled  her  sweet,  childlike  smile. 

"  Yes,  partly." 

"  How  can  I  disappear  partly  ? " 

"  I  have  told  you  nonsense.  But  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
about  her  that,  no  doubt,  she  sees  the  absurdity  of  his  so- 
called  ecstatic  love  (he  does  not  tell  her  anything),  and 
she  is  flattered  and  afraid  of  it.  You  know,  I  am  not 
competent  in  these  matters,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  on  his 
side  it  is  nothing  but  the  common  male  sentiment,  even 
though  it  be  masked.     He  says  that  this  love  increases  his 

69 


70  RESURRECTION 

energy,  and  that  it  is  a  platonic  love.  But  I  know  this 
much,  that  if  it  is  an  exceptional  love,  at  the  base  of 
it  lies  the  same  nastiness,  —  as  with  Novodvorov  and 
Lyubochka." 

Marya  Pavlovna  was  departing  from  the  question,  hav- 
ing struck  her  favourite  theme. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  tell  her.  It  is  always  better  to 
have  everything  clear.  Talk  with  her !  I  will  call  her. 
Do  you  want  me  to  ? "  said  Marya  Pavlovna. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Nekhlyiidov,  and  Marya  Pavlovna 
went  out. 

A  strange  feeling  came  over  Nekhlyiidov,  when  he  was 
left  alone  in  the  small  cell,  listening  to  the  quiet  breath- 
ing, now  and  then  interrupted  by  the  groans  of  Vy^ra 
Efr^movna,  and  the  din  of  the  criminals,  which  was  heard 
without  interruption  beyond  two  doors. 

What  Simonson  had  told  him  freed  him  from  the  obli- 
gation which  he  had  assumed  and  which,  in  moments  of 
weakness,  had  appeared  hard  and  strange  to  him,  and  yet 
he  not  only  had  an  unpleasant,  but  even  a  painful,  sensa- 
tion. This  feeling  was  united  with  another,  which  re- 
minded him  that  Simonsdu's  proposition  destroyed  the 
singularity  of  his  deed,  and  diminished  in  his  own  eyes  and 
in  those  of  others  the  value  of  the  sacrifice  which  he  was 
bringing :  if  a  man,  such  a  good  man,  who  was  not  bound 
to  her  by  any  ties,  wished  to  unite  his  fate  with  hers,  his 
sacrifice  was  not  so  important,  after  all.  There  was  also, 
no  doubt,  the  simple  feeling  of  jealousy :  he  was  so  used 
to  her  love  for  him  that  he  could  not  admit  the  possi- 
bility of  her  loving  anybody  else.  There  was  also  the 
destruction  of  the  plan  which  he  had  formed,  —  to  live  by 
her  side  as  long  as  she  had  to  suffer  punishment.  If  she 
was  to  marry  Simonson,  his  presence  would  become  super- 
fluous, and  he  would  have  to  form  a  new  plan  for  his 
life. 


RESURRECTION  71 

He  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  disentangling  all  his  feel- 
ings, when  through  the  opened  door  broke  the  intensified 
din  of  the  criminals  (there  was  something  special  going  on 
there),  and  Katyusha  entered  the  cell. 

She  walked  over  to  him  with  rapid  steps. 

"  Marya  Pavlovna  has  sent  me  to  you,"  she  said,  stopping 
close  to  him. 

"  Yes,  I  must  speak  with  you.  Sit  down  !  Vladimir 
Ivanovich  has  been  speaking  with  me." 

She  sat  down,  folding  her  hands  on  her  knees,  and 
seemed  to  be  calm,  but  the  moment  Nekhlyudov  pro- 
nounced Simonson's  name,  she  flushed  red. 

"  What  did  he  tell  you  ? "  she  asked. 

"  He  told  me  that  he  wanted  to  marry  you." 

Her  face  suddenly  became  wrinkled,  expressing  suffer- 
ing.    She  said  nothing,  and  only  lowered  her  eyes. 

"  He  asks  for  my  consent  or  advice.  I  told  him  that 
everything  depended  upon  you,  —  that  you  must  decide." 

"  Ah,  what  is  this  ?  What  for  ?  "  she  muttered,  look- 
ing into  Nekhlyudov's  eyes  with  that  strange,  squinting 
glance,  which  had  a  peculiar,  strong  effect  upon  him. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  in  silence  for  a  few 
seconds.     This  glance  spoke  much  to  both  of  them. 

"  You  nmst  decide,"  repeated  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Wliat  am  I  to  decide  ?  "  she  said.  "  Everything  has 
been  decided  long  ago." 

"  No,  you  must  decide  whether  you  accept  Vladimir 
Ivanovich's  proposition,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  What  kind  of  a  wife  can  I,  a  convict,  make  ?  Why 
should  I  ruin  Vladimir  Ivanovich's  life,  also  ?  "  she  said, 
frowning. 

"  But,  suppose  you  should  be  pardoned  ? "  said  Nekh- 
lyudov. 

"  Oh,  leave  me  in  peace  !  There  is  nothing  else  to  say," 
she  said,  and,  rising,  went  out  of  the  room. 


XVIII. 

When  Nekhlyildov  followed  Katyusha  to  the  male  cell, 
all  were  in  great  agitation.  Nabatov,  who  walked  about 
everywhere,  who  entered  into  relations  with  everybody, 
who  observed  everything,  had  brought  a  piece  of  news 
which  stirred  them  all.  This  news  was  that  he  had  found 
a  note  on  the  wall,  written  by  revolutionist  Petlin,  who 
had  been  sentenced  to  hard  labour.  Everybody  had  sup- 
posed that  Petlin  had  long  been  at  Kara,  and  now  it 
appeared  that  he  had  but  lately  passed  over  this  road, 
along  with  the  criminals. 

"  On  August  17th,"  so  ran  the  note,  "  I  was  sent  out 
all  alone  with  the  criminals.  Nevy^rov  was  with  me, 
but  he  hanged  himself  at  Kazan,  in  the  insane  asylum. 
I  am  well  and  in  good  spirits,  and  hope  for  the  best." 

Everybody  discussed  Petlin's  condition  and  the  causes 
of  ]Srevy(5rov's  suicide.  Kryltsov,  however,  kept  silent, 
with  a  concentrated  look,  glancing  ahead  of  him  with  his 
arrested,  sparkling  eyes. 

"  My  husband  told  me  that  Nevy^rov  had  had  a  vision 
while  locked  up  at  Petropavlovsk,"  said  Mrs.  Piantsev. 

"  Yes,  a  poet,  a  visionary,  —  such  people  cannot  stand 
solitary  confinement,"  said  Novodvorov.  "  Whenever  I 
was  kept  in  solitary  confinement,  I  did  not  allow  my 
imagination  to  work,  but  arranged  my  time  in  the  most 
systematic  manner.     For  this  reason  I  bore  it  well." 

"  Why  not  bear  it  ?  I  used  to  be  so  happy  when  I  was 
locked  up,"  said  Nabatov,  with  vivacity,  apparently  wish- 
ing to  dispel  gloomy  thoughts.  "  I  used  to  be  afraid  that 
I  should  be  caught,  that  I  should  get  others  mixed  up, 

72 


RESURRECTION  7B 

and  that  I  should  spoil  the  cause ;  but  the  moment  I  was 
locked  up,  all  responsibility  stopped :  I  could  take  a  rest. 
All  I  had  to  do  was  to  sit  and  smoke." 

"  Did  you  know  him  well  ? "  asked  Marya  Pavlovna, 
looking  restlessly  at  the  suddenly  changed,  drawn  face  of 
Kryltsov. 

"  Nevy(5rov  a  visionary  ? "  suddenly  said  Kryltsov,  chok- 
ing, as  though  he  had  been  crying  or  singing  long. 
"  Nevyerov  was  a  man  such  as  the  earth  does  not  bear 
often,  as  our  porter  used  to  say.  Yes.  He  was  a  man  of 
crystal,  —  you  could  see  through  him.  Yes.  He  not 
only  could  not  tell  a  lie,  he  did  not  even  know  how  to 
feign.  He  was  more  than  thiu-skiuned :  he  was  all  lacer- 
ated, so  to  speak,  and  his  nerves  were  exposed  to  view. 
Yes.  A  complex,  a  rich  nature,  not  such  —  Well,  what 
is  the  use  of  talking  ?  "  He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  We 
would  be  discussing  what  was  better,"  he  said,  with  a 
scowl,  "  first  to  educate  the  people,  and  then  change  the 
forms  of  life,  or  first  to  change  the  forms  of  life,  and  then 
how  to  struggle,  whether  by  peaceful  propaganda,  or  by 
terrorism.  We  would  be  discussing.  Yes.  But  they  did 
not  discuss  matters.  They  knew  their  business.  For 
them  it  was  all  the  same  whether  dozens  and  hundreds 
of  men,  and  what  men,  would  perish.  Yes,  Herzen  has 
said  that  when  the  Decembrists  were  removed  from  the 
circulation,  the  level  was  lowered.  How  could  they  help 
lowering  it !  Then  they  took  Herzen  and  his  contempo- 
raries out  of  circulation.     And  nov/  the  Nevyerovs  —  " 

"  They  will  not  destroy  all  of  them,"  said  Nabatov,  in 
his  vivacious  voice.  "  There  will  be  enough  left  to  breed 
anew." 

"  No,  there  will  not  be,  if  we  pity  them"  said  Kryltsov, 
raising  his  voice  and  not  allowing  himself  to  be  inter- 
rupted.    "  Give  me  a  cigarette  ! " 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you,  Anatdh,"  said  Marya  Pavlovna, 
"  Please,  don't  smoke  I " 


74  EESURRECTION 

"  Oh,  leave  me  in  peace,"  he  said,  angrily,  lighting  a 
cigarette.  He  soon  began  to  cough,  and  he  looked  as 
though  he  were  going  to  vomit.  He  spit  out  and  con- 
tinued : 

"  We  did  not  do  the  right  thing.  We  ought  not  to 
have  been  discussing,  but  banding  together  to  destroy 
them." 

"  But  they  are  men,  too,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  No,  they  are  not  men,  —  those  who  can  do  what  they 
are  doing.  They  say  they  have  invented  bombs  and 
balloons.  We  ought  to  rise  in  the  air  in  these  balloons 
and  pour  down  bombs  on  them  as  on  bedbugs,  until  not 
one  of  them  is  left.  Yes.  Because  —  "he  began,  but 
he  grew  red  in  his  face  and  coughed  even  more  than 
before,  and  the  blood  rushed  out  of  his  mouth. 

Nabatov  ran  out  for  some  snow.  Marya  Pavlovna 
took  out  some  valerian  drops  and  offered  them  to  him, 
but  he,  with  closed  eyes,  pushed  her  away  with  his  white, 
lean  hand,  and  breathed  heavily  and  rapidly.  When  the 
snow  and  cold  water  had  given  him  some  relief,  and  he 
was  put  to  bed  for  the  night,  Nekhlyudov  bade  everybody 
good-bye  and  went  toward  the  door  with  the  under-ofificer, 
who  had  come  for  him  and  had  been  waiting  for  him 
quite  awhile. 

The  criminals  were  now  quieted  down,  and  most  of 
them  were  asleep.  Although  the  people  in  the  ceUs 
were  lying  on  the  benches  and  beneath  the  benches  and 
in  the  aisles,  they  could  not  all  find  a  place,  and  some  of 
them  lay  on  the  floor  of  the  corridor,  having  placed  their 
bags  under  their  heads  and  their  damp  cloaks  over  them. 
Through  the  doors  of  the  cells  and  in  the  corridor  could 
be  heard  snoring,  groans,  and  sleepy  conversation.  Every- 
where could  be  seen  masses  of  human  figures,  covered 
with  their  cloaks.  A  few  men  in  the  bachelor  criminal 
cell  were  not  asleep:  they  were  seated  around  a  dip, 
which  they  extinguished  when  they  saw  the  soldier.     Iii 


RESURRECTION  75 

the  corridor,  under  the  lamp,  an  old  man  was  sittiDg  up, 
naked,  and  picking  oflF  the  vermin  from  his  shirt.  The 
foul  air  of  the  quarters  of  the  politicals  seemed  fresh  in 
comparison  with  the  close  stench  which  was  spread  here. 
The  smoking  lamp  appeared  as  though  through  a  fog,  and 
it  was  hard  to  breathe.  In  order  to  make  one's  way 
through  tlie  corridor,  without  stepping  on  any  of  the 
sleepers  or  tripping  up,  it  was  necessary  first  to  find  a 
clear  spot  ahead  and,  having  placed  the  foot  there,  to  find 
a  similar  spot  for  the  next  step.  Three  people,  who 
apparently  had  been  unable  to  find  a  place  even  in  the 
corridor,  had  located  themselves  in  the  vestibule  near 
the  stink-vat,  where  the  foul  water  moistened  their  very 
clothing.  One  of  these  was  a  foohsh  old  man,  whom 
Nekhlyiidov  had  frequently  seen  on  the  marches  ;  another 
was  a  ten-year-old  boy :  he  lay  between  the  two  pris- 
oners, and,  putting  his  hand  under  his  chin,  was  sleeping 
over  the  leg  of  one  of  them. 

Upon  coming  out  of  the  gate,  Nekhlyudov  stopped  and, 
expanding  his  chest  to  the  full  capacity  of  his  lungs,  for 
a  long  time  intensely  inhaled  the  frosty  air. 


XIX. 

The  stars  had  come  out.  Over  the  crusted  mud, 
which  ouly  in  spots  broke  through,  Nekhlyiidov  returned 
to  his  inn.  He  knocked  at  the  dark  window,  and  the 
broad-shouldered  servant  in  his  bare  feet  opened  the  door 
for  him  and  let  him  into  the  vestibule.  On  the  right 
hand  of  the  vestibule  could  be  heard  the  snoring  of  the 
drivers  in  the  servant-room ;  in  front,  beyond  the  door, 
was  heard  the  chewing  of  oats  by  a  large  number  of 
horses  in  the  yard.  On  the  left,  a  door  led  to  the  clean 
guest-room.  The  clean  guest-room  smelled  of  wormwood 
and  sweat,  and  beyond  a  partition  was  heard  the  even 
sucking  snore  of  some  miglity  lungs,  and  in  a  red  glass 
burnt  a  lamp  in  front  of  the  images.  Nekhlyudov  un- 
dressed himself,  spread  his  plaid  on  the  wax-cloth  sofa, 
adjusted  Ms  leather  pillow,  and  lay  down,  mentally  run- 
ning over  all  he  had  heard  and  seen  on  that  day.  Of 
everything  he  had  seen,  the  most  terrible  appeared  to  him 
the  sight  of  the  boy  sleeping  in  the  foul  puddle  formed  by 
the  stink- vat,  by  placing  his  head  on  the  leg  of  the  prisoner. 

In  spite  of  the  unexpectedness  and  importance  of  his 
evening  conversation  with  Simonson  and  Katyusha,  he 
did  not  dwell  on  that  event :  his  relation  to  it  was  too 
complex  and,  besides,  too  indefinite,  and  therefore  he  kept 
all  thought  of  it  away  from  himself.  But  so  much  the 
more  vividly  he  thought  of  the  spectacle  of  those  unfor- 
tunate beings,  who  were  strangling  in  the  foul  atmosphere 
and  who  were  wallowing  in  the  liquid  which  oozed  out 
from  the  stink-vat,  and,  especially,  of  the  boy  with  the 
innocent  face,  who  was  sleeping  on  the  prisoner's  leg, 
which  did  not  leave  his  mind. 


RESURRECTION  77 

To  know  that  somewhere  far  away  one  set  of  people 
torture  another,  subjecting  them  to  all  kinds  of  debauches, 
inhuman  humiliations,  and  suffering,  or  for  the  period  of 
three  months  continually  to  see  that  debauch  and  the 
torture  practised  by  one  class  of  people  on  another,  is 
quite  a  different  thing.  Nekhlyudov  was  experiencing 
this.  During  these  three  months  he  had  asked  himself 
more  than  once :  "  Am  I  insane  because  I  see  that  which 
others  do  not  see,  or  are  those  insane  who  produce  that 
which  I  see  ? "  But  the  people  (and  there  were  so  many 
of  them)  produced  that  which  so  bewildered  and  terrified 
him  with  such  quiet  conviction  that  it  must  be  so,  and 
that  that  which  they  were  doing  was  an  important  and 
useful  work,  that  it  was  hard  to  pronounce  all  these  people 
insane ;  nor  could  he  pronounce  himself  insane,  because 
he  was  conscious  of  the  clearness  of  his  thoughts.  Con- 
sequently he  was  in  continuous  doubt. 

What  Nekhlyudov  had  seen  during  these  three  months 
presented  itself  to  him  in  this  form :  from  all  people  who 
are  living  at  large,  by  means  of  the  courts  and  the  admin- 
istration, are  selected  the  most  nervous,  ardent,  excitable, 
gifted,  and  strong  individuals,  who  are  less  cunning  and 
cautious  than  the  rest,  and  these  people,  not  more  guilty 
or  more  dangerous  to  society  than  those  who  are  at 
liberty,  are  locked  up  in  prisons,  halting-places,  and  mines, 
where  they  are  kept  for  months  and  years  in  complete 
idleness  and  material  security,  and  removed  from  Nature, 
family,  and  labour,  that  is,  they  are  forced  outside  all  the 
conditions  of  a  natural  and  moral  human  existence.  So 
much  in  the  first  place.  In  the  second  place,  these  people 
are  in  these  establishments  subjected  to  all  kinds  of 
unnecessary  humihation,  —  to  chains,  shaven  heads,  and 
disgracing  attire,  that  is,  they  are  deprived  of  what  is, 
for  weak  people,  the  chief  motor  of  a  good  hfe,  —  of  the 
care  of  human  opinion,  of  shame,  of  the  consciousness  of 
human  dignity.     In  the  third   place,  being  continually 


78  RESURRECTION 

subject  to  the  perils  of  life,  —  not  to  mention  the  excep- 
tional cases  of  sunstroke,  drowning,  fires,  of  the  ever- 
present  contagious  diseases  in  the  places  of  confinement, 
of  exhaustion,  and  of  beatings,  —  these  people  are  all  the 
time  in  that  condition,  when  the  best  and  most  moral 
man,  from  a  feeling  of  self-preservation,  commits  and 
condones  the  most  terrible  and  cruel  acts.  In  the  fourth 
place,  these  people  are  forced  to  have  exclusive  intercourse 
with  dissolute  people  who  have  been  corrupted  by  life, 
and  especially  by  these  very  institutions,  —  with  mur- 
derers and  villains,  who,  as  a  leaven  on  the  dough,  act 
on  all  the  others  who  have  not  yet  been  completely 
corrupted  by  the  means  employed  against  them.  And, 
at  last,  in  the  fifth  place,  all  the  people  who  are  subjected 
to  these  influences  are,  in  the  most  persuasive  manner, 
encouraged,  by  means  of  all  kinds  of  inhuman  acts  com- 
mitted in  regard  to  themselves,  —  by  means  of  the  torture 
of  children,  women,  and  old  men,  of  beating  and  flogging 
with  rods  and  straps,  of  offering  rewards  to  those  who 
will  give  up  alive  or  dead  a  fugitive,  of  separating  men 
from  their  wives  and  connecting  for  cohabitation  strange 
men  with  strange  women,  of  shooting  and  hanging,  —  they 
are  encouraged  in  the  most  persuasive  manner  to  believe 
that  all  kinds  of  violence,  cruelty,  bestiality,  are  not  only 
not  forbidden  but  even  permitted  by  the  government, 
when  it  derives  any  advantage  from  them,  and  that  there- 
fore they  are  especially  permissible  to  those  who  are  under 
duress,  in  misery  and  want. 

All  these  institutions  seemed  to  him  to  have  been 
specially  invented  in  order  to  produce  the  compactest 
possible  debauch  and  vice,  such  as  could  not  be  attained 
under  any  other  conditions,  with  the  further  purpose  in 
view  later  to  disseminate  the  compact  debauch  and  vices 
in  their  broadest  extent  among  the  people.  "  It  looks  as 
though  a  problem  had  been  put  how  to  corrupt  the  largest 
possible  number  in  the  best  and  surest  manner,"  thought 


RESURRECTION  79 

Nekhlyiidov,  as  he  tried  to  get  at  the  essence  of  jails  and 
prisons.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  people  were  every 
year  brou^^ht  to  the  highest  degree  of  corruption,  and 
when  they  were  thus  completely  debauched,  they  were 
let  loose  to  carry  the  corruption,  which  they  had  acquired 
in  continement,  among  the  masses. 

Nekhlyiidov  saw  how  this  aim,  which  society  had  in 
view,  was  successfully  reached  in  the  prisons  of  Tyumen, 
Ekaterinburg,  and  Tomsk,  and  at  the  halting-places. 
People,  simple,  common  people,  brought  up  in  the  tenets 
of  Eussian  social.  Christian,  peasant  morality,  abandoned 
these  conceptions  and  acquired  new  prison  ideas,  which 
consisted  mainly  in  the  conviction  that  every  outrage  and 
violation  of  the  human  personality,  every  destruction  of 
the  same,  was  permissible  whenever  it  was  advantageous. 
People,  who  had  lived  in  the  prisons,  with  all  their  being 
came  to  see  that,  to  judge  from  what  was  being  done  to 
them,  all  the  moral  laws  of  respect  and  compassion  for 
man,  which  had  been  preached  by  rehgious  and  moral 
teachers,  were,  in  reality,  removed,  and  that,  therefore, 
there  was  no  need  for  holding  on  to  them.  Nekhlyudov 
saw  this  process  in  all  the  prisoners  whom  he  knew :  in 
F^dorov,  in  ]\Iakar,  and  even  in  Taras,  who,  having  passed 
two  months  with  the  convicts,  impressed  Nekhlyudov  by 
the  immorality  of  his  judgments.  On  his  way,  Nekhlyudov 
learned  that  vagabonds,  who  run  away  to  the  Tayga, 
persuade  their  comrades  to  run  with  them,  and  then  kill 
them  and  feed  on  their  flesh.  He  saw  a  living  man  who 
was  accused  of  it,  and  who  acknowledged  this  to  be  true. 
Most  terrible  was  the  fact  that  these  were  not  isolated 
cases,  but  of  common  occurrence. 

Only  by  a  special  cultivation  of  vice,  such  as  is  carried 
on  in  these  institutions,  could  a  Eussian  be  brought  to 
that  condition  to  which  the  vagabonds  are  brousrht, 
who  have  anticipated  Nietzsche's  doctrine  and  consider 
nothing    forbidden,    and    who    spread    this    doctrine,   at 


80  KESURRECTION 

first  among  the  prisoners,  and  later  among  the  people  at 
large. 

The  only  explanation  of  all  that  which  was  going  on 
was  that  it  was  intended  as  an  abatement  of  evil,  as  a 
threat,  correction,  and  legal  retribution.  But,  in  reahty, 
there  was  not  any  semblance  of  any  of  these  things.  In- 
stead of  abatement,  there  was  only  dissemination  of  crimes. 
Instead  of  threat,  there  was  only  encouragement  of 
criminals,  many  of  whom,  as,  for  example,  the  vagabonds, 
vokintarily  entered  the  prisons.  Instead  of  correction,  there 
was  a  systematic  spreading  of  aU  the  vices,  while  the 
need  of  retribution  was  not  only  not  lessened  by  govern- 
mental punishment,  but  was  even  nurtured  among  the 
masses,  where  it  did  not  exist  before. 

"  Why,  then,  do  they  do  all  these  things  ? "  Nekhlyiidov 
asked  himself,  and  found  no  answer. 

What  surprised  him  most  was  that  all  this  was  not 
done  at  haphazard,  by  mistake,  incidentally,  but  contin- 
uously, in  the  course  of  centuries,  with  this  distinction 
only,  that  in  former  days  they  had  their  noses  sht  and 
their  ears  cut  off,  then,  later,  they  were  branded  and  beaten 
with  rods,  and  now  they  were  manacled  and  transported 
by  steam,  instead  of  carts. 

The  reflection  that  that  which  provoked  him  originated, 
as  those  serving  in  these  institutions  told  him,  in  the 
imperfection  of  the  arrangements  at  the  places  of  confine- 
ment and  deportation,  and  that  all  this  could  be  remedied, 
did  not  satisfy  Nekhlyudov,  because  he  felt  that  that 
which  provoked  him  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  more  or 
less  perfect  arrangements  of  the  places  of  confinement. 
He  had  read  about  perfected  prisons  with  electric  bells,  of 
electrocutions,  recommended  by  Tarde,  and  this  perfected 
violence  offended  him  only  more. 

What  provoked  Nekhlyudov  was,  mainly,  because  there 
were  people  in  the  courts  and  ministries,  who  received 
large  salaries,  collected  from  the  masses,  for  consulting 


RESURKECTION  81 

books  written  by  just  such  officials,  with  just  such  aims, 
for  classifying  the  acts  of  men  who  had  violated  the  laws 
which  were  written  by  them,  according  to  certain  articles, 
and  for  sending  these  people,  in  accordance  with  these 
articles,  to  places  where  they  would  never  see  them  again, 
and  where  these  people,  under  full  control  of  cruel,  hard- 
ened superintendents,  wardens,  and  guards,  perished 
mentally  and  bodily  by  the  million. 

Having  become  closely  acquainted  with  the  prisons  and 
halting-places,  Nekhlyudov  noticed  that  aU  the  vices 
which  are  developed  among  the  prisoners,  drunkenness, 
gambling,  cruelty,  and  all  those  terrible  crimes  which  are 
committed  by  the  inmates  of  the  prisons,  and  even  canni- 
balism itself,  are  not  accidents  or  phenomena  of  degenera- 
tion, criminalism,  and  cretinism,  as  dull  savants  explain 
it,  playing  into  the  hands  of  the  governments,  but  the 
inevitable  result  of  the  incredible  error  that  people  may 
punish  others.  Nekhlyudov  saw  that  the  cannibalism 
did  not  begin  in  the  Tayga,  but  in  the  ministries,  com- 
mittees, and  departments,  and  was  only  accomplished  in 
the  Tayga  ;  that  his  brother  -  in  -  law,  for  example,  and 
all  the  court  members  and  officials,  beginning  with  the 
captain  of  police  and  ending  with  the  minister,  were  not 
in  the  least  concerned  about  justice  or  the  people's 
weal,  of  which  they  spoke;  and  that  they  all  wanted 
only  those  roubles  which  they  were  paid  for  doing  that 
from  which  originated  this  corruption  and  suffering. 
That  was  quite  evident. 

"  Is  it  possible  all  this  has  been  done  by  mistake  ? 
Could  there  not  be  invented  a  means  for  securing  a  salary 
for  these  officials,  and  even  offering  them  a  premium,  pro- 
vided that  they  should  abstain  from  doing  all  that  they 
are  doing  ?  "  thought  Nekhlyudov.  With  this  thought, 
after  the  second  cock-crow,  he  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  in 
spite  of  the  fleas  which  spirted  around  him  as  from  a 
fountain,  every  time  he  stirred. 


XX. 

When  Nekhlyudov  awoke,  the  drivers  had  left  long 
ago,  the  hostess  had  had  her  tea,  and,  wiping  her  stout, 
sweaty  neck  with  her  kerchief,  she  came  to  inform  him 
that  a  soldier  from  the  halting-place  had  brought  him  a 
note.  The  note  was  from  Marya  Pavlovna.  She  wrote 
that  Kryltsov's  attack  was  more  serious  than  they  had 
thought.  "At  one  time  we  wanted  to  leave  him  and 
stay  with  him,  but  that  we  were  not  allowed  to  do,  and  so 
we  will  take  him  along,  but  we  fear  the  worst.  Try  to 
arrange  it  so  in  the  city  that,  if  he  is  to  be  left  behind, 
one  of  us  may  stay  with  him.  If,  in  order  to  accom- 
plish this,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  marry  him,  I  am,  of 
course,  ready  to  do  so." 

Nekhlyudov  sent  the  lad  to  the  station  for  the  horses  and 
at  once  began  to  pack.  He  had  not  finished  his  second 
glass  of  tea,  when  the  stage  troyka,  tinkling  with  its 
little  bells  and  rattling  with  its  wheels  on  the  frozen  mud 
as  on  a  pavement,  drove  up  to  the  steps.  Nekhlyudov 
paid  his  bill  to  the  stout-necked  hostess.  He  hastened 
to  go  out,  and,  seating  himself  in  the  wicker  body  of  the 
cart,  ordered  the  driver  to  go  as  fast  as  possible,  in  order 
to  catch  up  with  the  party.  Not  far  from  the  gate  of  the 
herding  enclosure  he  fell  in  wdth  the  carts  which  were 
loaded  with  bags  and  sick  people,  and  which  rattled  over 
the  tufty,  frozen  mud.  The  officer  was  not  there,  —  he 
had  driven  ahead.  The  soldiers,  who  had  evidently  had 
some  liquor,  were  chatting  merrily,  walking  behind  and 
on  the  sides  of  the  road. 

There  were  many  carts.  In  each  of  the  front  carts  sat, 
closelv  huddled  together,  about  six  feeble  criminals  ;  in 

82 


RESURRECTION  83 

the  hind  vehicles  rode  the  politicals,  three  in  each.  In  the 
very  last  sat  Novodvdrov,  Miss  Grabi^ts,  and  Kondratev ; 
in  the  one  before  it,  Mrs.  Rantsev,  Nabatov,  and  that 
weak,  rheumatic  woman  to  whom  Marya  Pavlovna  had 
given  up  her  place ;  in  front  of  this  was  the  vehicle  in 
which  Kryltsdv  lay  on  hay  and  pillows.  Marya  Pav- 
lovna sat  on  a  box,  near  him.  Nekhlyudov  stopped  his 
driver  near  Kryltsov's  vehicle,  and  went  up  to  him.  An 
intoxicated  guard  waved  his  hand  to  him,  but  Nekhlyu- 
dov paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  walked  over  to  the 
cart,  and,  holding  on  to  a  round,  walked  alongside. 
Kryltsov,  in  sheepskin  coat  and  a  lamb-fur  cap,  his  mouth 
wrapped  up  in  a  kerchief,  looked  even  more  haggard  and 
pale  than  the  day  before.  His  beautiful  eyes  seemed  to 
be  particularly  large  and  sparkling.  Swaying  feebly  from 
the  jolts  of  the  cart,  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  Nekh- 
lyudov, and,  in  response  to  his  question  about  his  health, 
he  only  closed  his  eyes  and  angrily  shook  his  head.  His 
whole  energy  was  apparently  employed  in  bearing  the 
jolts.  Marya  Pavlovna  was  sitting  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  cart.  She  cast  a  significant  glance  at  Nekhlyudov, 
which  expressed  all  her  anxiety  about  Kryltsov's  condi- 
tion, and  then  she  spoke  in  a  merry  voice. 

"  Evidently  the  officer  was  ashamed,"  she  shouted,  so 
that  Nekhlyudov  might  hear  her  through  the  rumble 
of  the  wheels.  "  They  have  taken  off  Buzovkin's  man- 
acles. He  is  carrying  the  girl  himself,  and  with  them 
walk  Katyusha  and  Simonson,  and  Vydra,  in  my  place." 

Kryltsov  said  something  which  could  not  be  heard, 
pointing  to  Marya  Pavlovna,  and,  frowning,  in  an  effort 
to  repress  a  cough,  shook  his  head.  Then  Kryltsov 
raised  the  handkerchief  from  his  mouth  and  whispered: 

"  Now  I  am  much  better.  If  only  I  won't  catch  any 
cold ! " 

Nekhlyudov  nodded  his  head  affirmatively  and  ex- 
changed glances  with  Mdrya  Pavlovna. 


84  RESURRECTION 

"  Well,  how  is  the  problem  of  the  three  bodies  ?  "  Krylt- 
sov  whispered  and  smiled  a  heavy,  painful  smile.  "Is 
the  solution  hard  ?  " 

Nekhlyudov  did  not  understand  him,  but  Mary  a  Pdv- 
lovna  explained  to  him  that  it  was  a  famous  mathemat- 
ical problem  about  the  determination  of  the  relation  of 
three  bodies,  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  earth,  and  that  Krylt- 
sov  had  jestingly  applied  this  comparison  in  relation  to 
Nekhlyudov,  Katyusha,  and  Simonson.  Kryltsov  shook 
his  head,  in  token  of  Marya  Pavlovna's  correct  explana- 
tion of  his  jest. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  solve  it,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Did  you  get  my  note  ?  Will  you  do  it  ? "  Matya 
Pavlovna  asked. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  and,  noticing  dis- 
satisfaction in  Kryltsov's  face,  he  went  back  to  his 
vehicle,  climbed  into  its  sunken  wicker  body,  and,  hold- 
ing on  to  the  sides  of  the  cart,  which  jolted  him  over  the 
clumps  of  the  uneven  road,  he  drove  fast  ahead  along 
the  party  of  prisoners  in  gray  cloaks  and  of  chained  and 
manacled  men  in  short  fur  coats,  which  stretched  out  for 
a  whole  verst.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  he  rec- 
ognized Katyusha's  blue  kerchief,  Vy^ra  Efremovna's 
black  wrap,  and  Simonson's  jacket  and  knit  cap,  his 
white  woollen  stockings,  which  were  tied  up  by  straps 
in  the  shape  of  sandals.  He  was  walking  by  the 
women's  side,  and  discussing  something  excitedly. 

Upon  noticing  Nekhlyudov,  the  women  bowed  to  him, 
and  Simonson  solemnly  raised  his  cap.  Nekhlyudov  did 
not  have  anything  to  say  to  them,  so  he  did  not  stop  his 
driver,  but  drove  past  them.  When  the  driver  rode  out 
on  the  smooth  road,  he  went  even  faster,  but  he  was  all 
the  time  compelled  to  get  off  the  road  in  order  to  avoid 
the  loaded  wagons  which  were  going  on  both  sides  of  the 
highway. 

The  road,  which  was  all  cut   up   by  deep  ruts,  ran 


RESURRECTION  85 

through  a  dark  pine  forest,  which  on  both  sides  was  inter- 
spersed with  the  bright  sand-yellow  autumn  leafage  of 
birches  and  other  trees.  About  half-way  between  the 
stations  the  forest  came  to  an  end,  and  there  appeared 
fields  and  the  crosses  and  cupolas  of  a  monastery.  Day 
was  now  out  in  all  its  glory ;  the  clouds  were  dispersed ; 
the  sun  had  risen  above  the  forest ;  and  the  damp  leaves, 
and  the  puddles,  and  the  cupolas,  and  the  crosses  of  the 
church  shone  brightly  in  the  suu.  In  front  and  toward 
the  right,  the  grayish -blue  mountains  could  be  seen  in  the 
far  distance.  The  troyka  drove  into  a  large  suburban 
village.  The  street  was  full  of  people,  both  Russians  and 
natives  in  their  strange  caps  and  cloaks.  Drunken 
and  sober  men  and  women  swarmed  and  chattered  near 
the  shops,  inns,  taverns,  and  wagons.  One  could  feel  the 
nearness  of  the  city. 

Giving  the  right  horse  the  whip  and  pulling  in  the 
rein,  the  driver  sat  down  sidewise  on  his  box,  so  that 
the  reins  were  on  his  right,  and,  apparently  trying  to 
appear  dashing,  flew  down  the  wide  street,  and,  without 
checking  in  his  horses,  drove  down  to  the  river's  bank, 
which  was  to  be  crossed  by  means  of  a  ferry.  The  ferry 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  swift  river  and  was  comins 
toward  them.  On  this  side  about  ten  wagons  were  wait- 
ing for  it.  Nekhlyiidov  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  The 
ferry,  which,  to  stem  the  current,  was  going  a  long  dis- 
tance above  them,  carried  down  by  the  water,  soon 
landed  near  the  boards  of  the  landing-place. 

The  tall,  broad-chested,  muscular,  and  silent  ferrymen, 
in  short  fur  coats  and  Siberian  boots,  threw  up  the  cables 
and  fastened  them  to  posts  and,  opening  the  bars,  let  out 
the  wagons  which  were  standing  on  the  ferry,  and  again 
began  to  load  the  ferry  with  the  wagons  on  the  shore, 
putting  them  close  together,  and  beside  them  the  horses, 
which  shied  from  the  water.  The  swift  and  broad  river 
washed  the  sides  of  the  boats  of  the  ferry,  straining  the 


86  RESURRECTION 

cables.  When  the  ferry  was  full  and  Nekhlyudov's 
vehicle,  with  its  horses  detached,  pressed  in  on  all  sides, 
stood  at  one  end,  the  ferrymen  put  up  the  bars,  paying 
DO  attention  to  those  who  had  failed  to  find  a  place 
on  the  ferry,  took  off  the  cables,  and  started  across.  On 
the  ferry  everything  was  quiet,  except  for  the  thud  of  the 
ferrymen's  steps  and  the  tramp  of  the  hoofs  of  the  horses 
on  the  boards,  as  they  changed  their  position. 


XXL 

Nekhlyudov  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  ferry,  looking 
at  the  broad,  rapid  river.  In  his  imagination,  one  after 
another,  rose  two  pictures :  the  angry  head  of  dying 
Kryltsov,  shaking  from  the  jolting,  and  Katyusha's  form, 
briskly  walking  with  Simonson  at  the  edge  of  the  road. 
The  one  impression,  that  of  the  dying  Kryltsov,  who  was 
unprepared  for  death,  was  oppressive  and  sad.  The  other 
impression,  that  of  vivacious  Katyusha,  who  had  found 
the  love  of  such  a  man  as  Simonson,  and  who  now  was 
standing  on  the  firm  and  secure  path  of  goodness,  ought 
to  have  been  cheerful,  but  to  Nekhlyudov  it,  too,  was 
oppressive,  and  he  was  not  able  to  overcome  this  oppres- 
sive feeling. 

From  the  citv  was  borne  over  the  water  the  din  and 
the  metallic  tremor  of  a  large  church  bell.  The  driver, 
who  was  standing  near  Nekhlyudov,  and  all  the  other 
drivers  one  after  another  took  off  their  caps  and  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  But  a  shaggy-haired  old  man, 
who  was  standing  nearest  to  the  balustrade,  and  whom 
Nekhlyudov  had  not  noticed  before,  did  not  cross  himself, 
but,  raising  his  head,  stared  at  Nekhlyudov.  This  old 
man  was  clad  in  a  long  patched  coat,  cloth  trousers,  and 
worn  out,  patched  boots.  On  his  back  was  a  small 
wallet,  and  on  his  head  a  tall,  liairless  fur  cap. 

"  Old  man,  why  do  you  not  pray  ? "  said  Nekhlyildov's 
driver,  putting  on  and  adjusting  his  cap.  "  Are  you  not 
a  Christian  ? " 

"  To  whom  shall  I  pray  ? "  said  the  shaggy -haired  old 

87 


88  RESURRECTION 

man,  in  a  firm,  provoking  tone,  and  rapidly  pronouncing 
one  syllable  after  another. 

"  Of  course,  to  God  !  "  the  driver  retorted,  ironically. 

"  You  show  me  where  He  is  !     I  mean  God  ! " 

There  was  something  serious  and  firm  in  the  expression 
of  the  old  man,  so  that  the  driver,  who  felt  that  he  had 
to  do  with  a  strong  man,  was  a  little  confused ;  however, 
he  did  not  show  it,  and,  trying  not  to  be  silenced  and 
shamed  before  the  public  present,  he  rapidly  answered : 

"  Where  ?     Of  course,  in  heaven  ! " 

"  Have  you  been  there  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not,  but  everybody  knows  that  we  must 
pray  to  God." 

"  Nobody  has  ever  seen  God.  The  only  begotten  Son, 
who  is  in  His  Father's  lap,  He  has  appeared,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  a  stern  frown  and  speaking  just  as  fast. 

"  You  are  evidently  an  infidel,  and  you  pray  to  a  hole 
in  the  ground,"  said  the  driver,  sticking  the  whip-handle 
in  his  belt  and  fixing  the  off-horse's  crupper. 

Somebody  laughed  out. 

"  Grandfather,  what  is  your  faith  ? "  asked  a  middle- 
aged  man,  who  was  standing  with  a  wagon  at  the  edge  of 
the  ferry. 

"  I  have  no  faith  whatever.  I  do  not  believe  in  any- 
body but  myself,"  the  old  man  answered  just  as  fast  and 
with  the  same  determination. 

"  How  can  you  believe  in  yourself  ? "  said  Nekhlyudov, 
taking  part  in  the  conversation.  "  You  might  make  a 
mistake." 

"  Not  on  my  life,"  the  old  man  replied,  with  determina- 
tion, shaking  his  head. 

"  Why,  then,  are  there  different  religions  ? "  asked 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  There  are  different  religions,  because  people  will  be- 
lieve others,  but  not  themselves.  I  used  to  believe 
others,  and  I  wandered  about,  as  in  the  Tayga ;  I  got  so 


.RESURRECTION  89 

entangled  that  I  thought  I  would  never  get  out  from  it. 
There  are  Old-believers  and  N"ew-])elievers,  Sabbatarians, 
Flagellants,  the  Popish,  the  Popeless,  Austrians,  Milkers, 
and  Eunuchs.  Every  faith  praises  itself  up.  And  so 
they  have  all  crawled  apart  like  blind  pups.  There  are 
many  faiths,  but  the  spirit  is  one,  —  in  you,  in  me,  and  in 
him.  Consequently,  let  everybody  believe  in  Ms  spirit, 
and  all  will  be  connected !  Let  each  be  for  himself,  and 
all  will  be  united  !  " 

The  old  man  spoke  loud  and  looked  around  all  the 
time,  apparently  wishing  to  be  heard  by  as  many  people 
as  possible. 

"  Well,  have  you  believed  so  for  a  long  time  ? "  Nekh- 
lyiidov  asked  him. 

"  I  ?  For  a  long  time.  They  have  been  persecuting 
me  these  twenty-three  years." 

"  How,  persecuting  ?  " 

"  As  they  persecuted  Christ,  so  they  persecute  me. 
They  grab  me,  and  take  me  to  courts  and  to  priests, — 
they  take  me  to  the  scribes  and  to  the  Pharisees.  They 
have  had  me  in  the  insane  asylum.  But  they  can't  do 
anything  with  me,  and  so  I  am  free.  — '  What  is  your 
name?'  they  say.  They  think  that  I  will  accept  some 
caUing,  but  I  do  not.  I  have  renounced  everything :  I 
have  neither  name,  nor  place,  nor  country, —  I  have 
nothing.  I  am  myself.  How  do  they  call  me  ?  Man. 
—  '  How  old  are  you  ? '  —  I  do  not  count  my  years,  I  say, 
because  it  is  impossible  to  count  them :  I  have  always 
been,  and  I  shall  always  be.  —  'Who  is  your  father  and 
mother  ? '  —  No,  I  say,  I  have  no  father,  nor  mother, 
except  God  and  earth.  God  is  my  father,  and  the  earth 
my  mother.  —  'And  do  you  acknowledge  the  Tsar?'  — 
Why  not  acknowledge  him  ?  He  is  a  tsar,  and  so  am  I. 
— '  What  good  does  it  do  to  talk  w^th  you  ? '  they  say. 
And  I  answer :  I  do  not  even  ask  you  to  talk  with  me. 
And  so  they  torment  me." 


90  RESURRECTION. 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ? "  asked  Nekhlyuclov. 

"  Whither  God  will  take  me.  I  work,  and  when  I  have 
no  work,  I  beg,"  ended  the  old  man,  noticing  that  the 
ferry  was  approaching  the  other  side.  He  cast  a  victori- 
ous glance  upon  all  those  who  had  been  listening  to  him. 

The  ferry  landed  at  the  other  shore.  Nekhlyiidov 
drew  out  his  purse  and  offered  the  old  man  some  money. 
The  old  man  refused  it. 

"  I  do  not  take  this.     I  take  bread,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  forgive  me." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  You  have  not  offended 
me.  It  is  impossible  to  offend  me,"  said  the  old  man, 
shouldering  the  wallet,  which  he  had  taken  off.  In  the 
meantime  the  stage  vehicle  was  taken  ashore  and  hitched 
up  again. 

"  What  good,  sir,  does  it  do  you  to  talk  with  him  ? " 
said  the  driver,  when  Nekhlyiidov,  having  feed  the  pow- 
erful ferrymen,  climbed  into  the  cart.  "  He  is  a  senseless 
vagabond.* 


XXII. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  summit  of  a  hill,  the  driver  turned 
back. 

"  To  what  hotel  shall  I  take  you  ? " 

"  Which  is  the  best  ? " 

"  Nothing  better  than  '  Siberia.'  It  is  nice  at  Due's, 
too." 

The  driver  again  sat  down  sidewise  and  gave  the  horses 
the  reins.  The  town  was  like  all  towns  :  the  same  houses 
with  the  mezzanines  and  green  roofs ;  the  same  cathedral, 
the  same  small  and  large  shops,  and  even  the  same  police- 
men. The  only  difference  was  that  nearly  all  the  houses 
were  frame  buildings,  and  the  streets  not  paved.  In  one 
of  the  most  animated  streets  the  driver  stopped  the  vehicle 
in  front  of  a  hotel.  There  were  no  rooms  to  be  had  in  that 
hotel,  and  so  he  had  to  drive  to  another.  In  this  one  an 
unoccupied  room  was  found,  and  Nekhlyiidov,  for  the  first 
time  in  two  months,  found  himself  under  the  customary 
conditions  of  comparative  cleanliness  and  comfort.  The 
room  which  was  given  to  Nekhlyiidov  was  not  very  lux- 
urious, but  he  experienced  a  great  relief  after  the  stage, 
the  inns,  and  the  halting-places.  Above  everything  else, 
he  had  to  clean  himself  from  the  lice,  of  which  he  never 
could  completely  rid  himself  after  his  visits  at  the 
halting-places. 

He  unpacked  his  things,  and  at  once  drove  to  the  bath- 
house ;  then,  having  donned  his  city  clothes,  a  starched 
shirt,  creased  trousers,  a  black  coat,  and  an  overcoat,  he 
made  for  the  chief  of  the  district.  The  large,  well-fed 
Kirghiz  horse   of    a  quivering    light  vehicle,  which  the 

91 


92  RESURRECTION 

porter  of  the  hotel  had  called  up  for  him.  took  him  to 
a  large,  handsome  building,  before  which  stood  sentries 
and  a  policeman.  In  front  of  the  house  and  back  of  it 
was  a  garden,  in  which,  amidst  bared  aspens  and  birches, 
with  their  towering  branches,  could  be  seen  the  thick, 
dark  green  fohage  of  pines,  firs,  and  spruces. 

The  general  w^as  not  well  and  did  not  receive.  Nekh- 
lyiidov,  nevertheless,  asked  the  lackey  to  take  in  his  card, 
and  the  lackey  returned  with  a  favourable  answer. 

"  Please  come  in  ! " 

The  antechamber,  the  lackey,  the  orderly,  the  staircase, 
the  parlour  with  the  shining,  waxed  parquetry,  —  all  that 
was  like  St.  Petersburg,  only  more  dirty  and  majestic. 
Nekhlyiidov  was  taken  to  the  cabinet. 

The  general,  a  puffed-up  man,  with  a  potato-shaped 
nose,  protruding  bumps  on  his  forehead  and  closely 
cropped  skull,  and  skin-bags  under  his  eyes,  a  man  of 
a  sanguine  temperament,  was  sitting  in  a  silk  Tartar 
morning-gown,  and,  with  a  cigarette  in  his  hand,  was 
drinking  tea  from  a  glass  in  a  silver  saucer. 

"  Good  morning,  sir !  Excuse  me  for  receiving  you  in 
my  morning-gown.  It  is  certainly  better  than  not  to 
receive  you  at  all,"  he  said,  covering  with  his  gown  the 
stout,  wrinkled  nape  of  his  neck.  "  I  am  not  very  well, 
and  do  not  go  out.  What  has  brought  you  here,  to  our 
out-of-the-way  realm  ? " 

"  I  have  been  accompanying  a  party  of  prisoners,  in 
which  there  is  a  person  near  to  me,"  said  Kekhlyudov, 
"and  I  have  come  to  ask  your  Excellency  something, 
partly  in  respect  to  this  person,  and  partly  in  another 
matter." 

The  general  puffed  at  his  cigarette,  sipped  some  tea,  put 
out  the  cigarette  against  a  malachite  ash-tray,  and,  without 
taking  his  narrow,  swimming,  sparkling  eyes  off  Nekh- 
lyudov,  hstened  to  what  he  had  to  say.  He  interrupted 
him  only  to  ask  him  whether  he  did  not  want  to  smoke. 


RESURRECTION  93 

The  general  belonged  to  the  type  of  learned  military 
men  who  regarded  hberalism  and  humanitarianism  as 
compatible  with  their  caUing.  But,  being  by  nature  an 
intelligent  and  good  man,  he  soon  convinced  himself  of  the 
impossibility  of  such  a  union,  and,  in  order  not  to  see 
the  internal  contradiction,  in  which  he  was  continually 
moving,  he  more  and  more  became  addicted  to  the  habit 
of  drinking  wine,  so  wide-spread  among  military  men,  and 
grew  to  be  such  a  victim  of  this  habit  that,  after  thirty- 
five  years  of  service,  he  was  what  physicians  denominate 
an  alcoholic.  He  was  all  saturated  with  wine.  It  was 
enough  for  him  to  drink  any  liquid  in  order  to  feel 
intoxicated.  Drinking  wine  had  become  such  a  necessity 
with  him  that  he  could  not  live  without  it ;  in  the  evening 
he  was  almost  always  quite  drunk,  but  he  had  become  so 
used  to  this  condition  that  he  did  not  stagger  or  speak 
foolishly.  Or,  if  he  did,  he  occupied  such  an  important 
and  leading  position  that,  whatever  insipidity  he  might 
utter,  it  was  taken  for  wisdom.  Only  in  the  morning, 
just  as  when  Nekhlyiidov  met  him,  he  resembled  a  sensi- 
ble man  and  was  able  to  comprehend  what  was  said  to 
him,  and  more  or  less  successfully  to  verify  the  problem, 
which  he  was  fond  of  repeating:  Drunk  and  clever, — 
two  advantages  ever.  The  higher  authorities  knew  that 
he  was  a  drunkard,  but  he  was  more  educated  than  the 
rest,  —  although  he  had  stopped  in  his  education  there 
where  drunkenness  overtook  him,  —  that  he  was  bold, 
agile,  representative,  that  he  could  carry  himself  tactfully 
even  though  drunk,  and  so  he  was  appointed  to  and  kept 
in  that  prominent  and  responsible  position  which  he  was 
occupying. 

Nekhlyiidov  told  him  that  the  person  who  interested 
him  was  a  woman,  that  she  was  unjustly  condemned,  and 
that  the  emperor  had  been  appealed  to. 

"  Yes,  sir.     Well,  sir  ? "  said  the  general. 

"  I  was  promised  in  St.  Petersburg  that  the  information 


94  RESURRECTION 

about  this  woman's  fate  would  reach  me  in  a  month,  at 
latest,  and  in  this  place  —  " 

Without  taking  his  eyes  off  Nekhlyudov,  the  general 
extended  his  short-fingered  hand,  rang  the  bell,  and  con- 
tinued to  hsten  in  silence,  puffing  at  the  cigarette,  and 
coughing  quite  loudly. 

"  So  I  should  like  to  ask  you  whether  it  would  not  be 
possible  to  keep  this  woman  here  until  an  answer  is  re- 
ceived to  my  petition." 

A  lackey,  dressed  in  military  attire  and  serving  as 
orderly,  entered. 

"  Go  and  ask  whether  Anna  Vasilevna  is  up,"  the  gen- 
eral said  to  the  orderly,  "  and  bring  me  some  more  tea. 
—  Aud  the  other  thing?"  the  general  again  turned  to 
Nekhlyudov. 

"  My  other  request,"  continued  Nekhlyudov,  "  is  in  re- 
gard to  a  political  prisoner,  who  is  travelling  with  this 
party." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  the  general,  significantly  shaking  his 
head. 

"  He  is  very  sick,  —  he  is  a  dying  man.  No  doubt,  he 
will  be  left  here  in  the  hospital.  One  of  the  political 
women  would  like  to  remain  with  him." 

"  Is  she  a  stranger  to  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  she  is  willing  to  marry  him,  if  this  would 
give  her  a  chance  of  staying  with  him." 

The  general  looked  fixedly  at  him  with  his  beaming 
eyes  and  kept  silent,  while  listening  and  smoking.  Ap- 
parently he  wished  to  embarrass  his  interlocutor  by  his 
glance. 

When  Nekhlyudov  had  finished,  he  took  a  book  from 
the  table,  and,  rapidly  thumbing  it,  as  he  turned  the 
leaves,  found  the  article  on  marriage  and  read  it. 

"  What  is  she  sentenced  to  ? "  he  asked,  raising  his  head 
from  his  book. 

"  To  hard  labour." 


KESUKRECTION  95 

"  Well,  then  the  situation  of  the  sick  man  cannot  be 
improved  by  such  a  marriage." 

"  But  —  " 

"  Excuse  me !  Even  if  a  free  man  were  to  marry  her, 
she  would  have  to  serve  out  her  punishment.  The  ques- 
tion is  who  pays  the  greater  penalty,  he  or  she." 

"  They  are  both  condemned  to  hard  labour." 

"  Well,  they  are  quits,  then,"  said  the  general,  with  a 
smile.  "  She  gets  what  he  does.  He  can  be  left  here,  if 
he  is  sick,"  he  continued,  "  and,  of  course,  everything  will 
be  done  to  alleviate  his  condition ;  but  she,  even  if  she 
married  him,  could  not  be  left  here  —  " 

"  Her  Excellency  is  drinking  coffee,"  the  lackey  an- 
nounced. 

The  general  nodded  his  head  and  continued : 

"  However,  I  will  think  it  over.  What  are  their  names  ? 
Write  them  down,  here  !  " 

Nekhlyudov  wrote  them  down. 

"  Nor  can  I  do  this,"  the  general  said  to  Nekhlyudov, 
in  reply  to  his  request  to  be  admitted  to  the  sick  man. 
"  Of  course,  I  do  not  suspect  you,"  he  said,  "  but  you  are 
interested  in  him  and  in  others,  and  you  have  money. 
Here,  with  us,  everything  is  venal.  I  am  told  to  uproot 
bribery.  But  how  am  I  to  abolish  it,  when  all  are  bribe- 
takers ?  The  lower  in  rank,  the  worse.  How  can  I  watch 
them  five  thousand  versts  away  ?  He  is  there  just  such  a 
little  king  as  I  am  here,"  and  he  smiled.  "  You  have, 
no  doubt,  seen  the  politicals,  —  you  have  given  money, 
and  you  have  been  admitted  ?  "  he  said,  smiling.  "  Am  I 
right  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  is  so." 

"  I  know  that  you  must  act  like  that.  You  want  to  see 
a  political,  and  you  are  sorry  for  him.  The  superintendent 
or  a  guard  will  accept  a  bribe,  because  he  gets  about  two 
dimes  of  salary,  and  he  has  a  family,  and  cannot  help 
accepting  the  bribe.     I,  in  your  place  or  in  his,  would  act 


96  EESURRECTION 

just  like  you  or  him.  But  in  my  own  place,  I  do  not 
permit  myself  to  deviate  from  the  strictest  letter  of  the 
law,  for  the  very  reason  that  I  am  a  man  and  might  be 
moved  by  compassion.  I  am  an  executor.  I  have  been 
trusted  under  certain  conditions,  and  I  must  justify  this 
trust.  Well,  this  question  is  settled.  Now,  tell  me  what 
is  going  on  there,  in  the  metropolis." 

The  general  began  to  ask  questions  and  to  tell  things, 
obviously  wishing  at  the  same  time  to  hear  the  news,  and 
to  show  his  importance  and  humanity. 


XXIII. 

"  Well,  so  where  do  you  stay  ?     At  Due's  ?     Well,  it 
is   not   particularly    good    there,    either.     You    come   to 
dinner,"  said  the  general,  seeing  Nekhlyudov  off,  "  at  five 
o'clock.     Do  you  speak  English  ?  " 
.  "  Yes,  I  do." 

"  That  is  nice.  There  is  an  English  traveller  here.  He 
is  making  a  study  of  deportation  and  prisons  in  Siberia. 
He  will  be  at  dinner  to-day,  and  you  come,  too.  We 
dine  at  five,  and  my  wife  demands  promptness.  I  will 
give  you  an  answer  then,  as  to  what  can  be  done  with 
that  woman,  and  about  the  sick  man.  Maybe  it  will  be 
possible  to  leave  somebody  with  him." 

Bowing  to  the  general,  Nekhlyudov  went  out,  and, 
feeling  himself  agitatedly  active,  drove  to  the  post- 
office. 

The  post-office  was  a  low,  vaulted  building.  Back  of 
the  counter  sat  some  officials,  who  were  handing  out 
letters  to  a  crowd  of  people.  One  official,  bending  his 
head  toward  one  side,  kept  stamping  envelopes,  which  he 
handled  with  great  facihty.  Nekhlyudov  was  not  made 
to  wait  long.  Upon  hearing  his  name,  they  handed  out 
a  sufficiently  large  correspondence.  Here  was  money,  a 
few  letters  and  books,  and  the  last  number  of  the  Mes- 
senger of  Europe. 

Having  received  his  letters,  Nekhlyudov  went  up  to 
a  wooden  bench,  on  which  a  soldier,  holding  a  small 
book,  was  sitting  and  waiting  for  something,  and  sat 
down  near  him,  to  look  over  his  letters.     Among  them 

97 


98  RESURRECTION 

was  a  registered  letter,  a  beautiful  envelope  with  a  clean 
impression  on  the  bright  red  sealing-wax.  He  opened 
the  envelope,  and,  upon  seeing  a  letter  from  Selenin, 
together  with  an  official  document,  he  felt  that  the  blood 
had  rushed  to  his  face,  and  his  heart  was  compressed.  It 
was  the  decree  in  Katyusha's  case.  What  was  this 
decree  ?  Could  it  possibly  be  a  refusal  ?  Nekhiyudov 
hurriedly  ran  over  the  letter,  which  was  written  in  a 
small,  illegible,  firm,  abrupt  hand,  and  he  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief.     The  decree  was  favourable. 

"  Dear  friend  ! "  wrote  Sel^niu.  "  Our  last  conversa- 
tion has  left  a  deep  impression  on  me.  You  were  right 
in  regard  to  Maslova.  I  carefully  looked  through  the 
case,  and  I  saw  that  a  shocking  injustice  had  been  done 
her.  The  only  place  where  this  could  be  remedied  was 
the  Petition  Commission,  where  you  have  handed  your 
appeal.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  influence  the  decision 
in  the  case,  and  I  send  a  copy  of  the  pardon  to  you  at  the 
address  given  me  by  Countess  Ekaterina  Ivanovna.  The 
original  was  sent  to  the  place  of  her  confinement  during 
her  trial,  and,  no  doubt,  will  soon  be  transmitted  to  the 
Siberian  Central  Office.  I  hasten  to  inform  you  of  this 
pleasant  news.  I  give  you  a  friendly  hand-shake.  Yours, 
Selenin." 

The  contents  of  the  document  ran  as  follows :  "  The 
Chancery  of  his  Imperial  Majesty  for  the  reception  of 
petitions  directed  to  the  Sovereign.  Such  and  such  a 
case.  Such  and  such  a  division.  Such  and  such  a  date 
and  year.  By  order  of  the  Chief  of  the  Chancery  of  his 
Imperial  Majesty  for  the  reception  of  petitions  directed 
to  the  Sovereign,  Burgess  Ekaterina  Maslova  is  herewith 
informed  that  his  Imperial  Majesty,  in  conformity  with 
the  most  humble  report  made  to  him,  condescending  to 
Maslova's  prayer,  has  deigned  to  command  to  commute 
her  hard  labour  penalty  to  deportation  to  less  remote 
regions  of  Siberia." 


RESURRECTION  99 

The  information  was  cheerful  and  important :  every- 
thing Nekhlyiidov  could  have  expected  for  Katyusha  and 
for  himself  had  happened.  It  is  true,  this  change  in  her 
condition  presented  new  complications  in  respect  to  her. 
As  long  as  she  remained  a  convict,  the  marriage  which 
he  had  proposed  to  her  could  be  ouly  fictitious  and  might 
serve  merely  to  alleviate  her  position.  Now,  nothing 
interfered  with  their  living  together.  For  this  Nekh- 
lyiidov was  not  ready.  Besides,  there  were  her  relations 
with  Simonson.  What  did  her  words  of  the  day  before 
mean  ?  And  if  she  should  agree  to  be  united  to  Simon- 
sou,  would  it  be  well  or  ill  ?  He  was  completely  unable 
to  straighten  out  his  thoughts,  and  so  stopped  thinking  of 
the  matter  entirely.  "  All  this  will  properly  arrange 
itself  in  the  future,"  he  thought,  "and  now  I  must  see 
her  as  soon  as  possible,  and  inform  her  of  the  joyful  news 
and  free  her."  He  thought  that  the  copy  which  he  had 
in  his  hands  was  sufficient  for  that.  Upon  leaving  the 
post-office,  he  ordered  the  driver  to  take  him  to  the 
prison. 

Although  the  general  had  not  given  him  in  the  morn- 
ing permission  to  visit  the  prison,  Nekhlyiidov  knew 
from  experience  that  frequently  it  was  possible  to  obtain 
from  the  lower  authorities  that  which  it  was  impossible 
to  get  from  the  higher,  and  so  he  decided  to  endeavour  to 
penetrate  into  the  prison  in  order  to  announce  the  joyful 
news  to  Katyusha,  and,  if  possible,  to  liberate  her,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  to  find  out  about  Kryltsov's  health, 
and  to  transmit  to  him  and  to  Marya  Pavlovna  that 
which  the  general  had  said. 

The  superintendent  of  the  prison  was  a  very  tall  and 
stout,  majestic-looking  man,  with  a  moustache  and  side- 
whiskers  bending  toward  the  edge  of  his  mouth.  He 
received  Nekhlyiidov  with  great  severity,  and  at  once 
informed  him  that  he  could  not  admit  strangers  for  inter- 
views without  a  permit  from  the  chief.    To  Nekhlyiidov's 


100  RESURRECTION 

remark  that  he  had  been  admitted  even  in  the  capitals, 
the  superintendent  answered : 

*'  Very  hkely  so,  only  I  shall  not  admit  you."  His 
tone  seemed  to  say :  *'  You  gentlemen  from  the  capital 
think  that  you  will  puzzle  us  the  moment  you  see  us ; 
but  we,  in  Eastern  Siberia,  are  firmly  grounded  in  the 
regulations,  and  we  can  teach  you  a  thing." 

The  copy  from  the  Private  Chancery  of  his  Imperial 
Majesty  had  no  effect  on  the  superintendent.  He  abso- 
lutely refused  to  admit  Nekhlyudov  within  the  walls  of 
the  prison.  To  Nekhlyiidov's  naive  supposition  that 
Maslova  might  be  liberated  upon  the  presentation  of  this 
copy,  he  only  smiled  contemptuously,  remarking  that  in 
order  to  set  any  one  free  he  had  to  have  the  order  from 
his  direct  authorities.  All  he  promised  to  do  was  to 
announce  to  Maslova  that  she  was  pardoned,  and  that 
he  would  not  keep  her  a  single  hour  after  the  moment  he 
received  the  papers  from  his  authorities. 

He  also  refused  to  give  him  any  information  about 
Kryltsov's  health,  saying  that  he  could  not  even  tell  him 
whether  there  was  any  such  prisoner.  Thus,  without 
having  obtained  anything,  Nekhlyudov  seated  himself  in 
the  vehicle  and  had  himself  taken  back  to  his  hotel. 

The  severity  of  the  superintendent  was  mainly  due  to 
the  fact  that  in  the  prison,  which  was  crowded  to  double 
its  capacity,  typhus  was  raging  at  the  time.  The  cabman 
who  was  driving  Nekhlyudov  told  him  on  the  way  that 
"  in  the  prison  the  people  are  dying  awfully.  A  certain 
disease  has  fallen  upon  them.  They  bury  about  twenty 
people  a  day." 


XXIV. 

Notwithstanding  his  failure  at  the  prison,  Nekhlyu- 
dov,  still  in  the  same  cheerful,  agitatedly  active  frame  of 
mind,  drove  to  the  governor's  office  to  find  out  whether 
the  document  in  regard  to  Maslova's  pardon  had  been 
received.  There  was  no  such  document,  and  so  Nekh- 
lyudov,  immediately  upon  his  return  to  the  hotel,  hastened 
to  write  about  it  to  Sel^nin  and  to  the  lawyer.  Having 
finished  his  letters,  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that 
it  was  time  to  drive  to  the  governor's  for  dinner. 

On  his  way,  he  was  again  troubled  by  the  thought  how 
Katyusha  would  receive  her  pardon.  Where  would  they 
deport  her  ?  How  would  he  live  with  her  ?  What  would 
Simonson  do  ?  What  was  her  relation  to  him  ?  He 
recalled  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  her.  And, 
with  this,  he  recalled  her  past. 

"  That  must  be  forgotten  and  wiped  out,"  he  said, 
hastening  to  drive  away  all  thoughts  of  her.  "  That  vnW 
appear  later,"  he  said  to  himself.  He  began  to  think  of 
what  he  ought  to  say  to  the  general. 

The  dinner  at  the  general's,  circumstanced  with  all  the 
luxury  of  rich  people  and  important  officials,  such  as 
Nekhlyudov  had  been  used  to,  was,  after  the  long  priva- 
tion not  only  of  luxury,  but  even  of  the  most  primitive 
comforts,  especially  agreeable  to  him. 

The  hostess  was  a  grand  St.  Petersburg  lady  of  the  old 

style,  a  former  lady  of  honour  at  the  court  of  Nicholas, 

who   spoke   French  naturally   and   Eussian  unnaturally. 

She  held  herself  remarkably  straight  and,  in  moving  her 

hands,  did  not  take  her  elbows   away  from  her  waist. 

101 


102  RESUREECTION 

She  was  calm  and  somewhat  sadly  respectful  to  her 
husband,  and  exceedingly  gracious  to  her  guests,  though 
with  different  shades  of  attention,  according  to  the  persons. 
She  received  Nekhlyiidov  like  one  of  her  own,  with  that 
peculiar,  refined,  imperceptible  flattery,  which  brought 
back  to  Nekhlyiidov  the  consciousness  of  all  his  worth 
and  gave  him  a  pleasurable  satisfaction.  She  made  him 
feel  that  she  knew  his  honest,  though  original,  act,  which 
had  brought  him  to  Siberia,  and  that  she  regarded  him  as 
an  exceptional  man.  This  fine  flattery  and  all  the  artis- 
tically luxurious  appointments  in  the  house  of  the  general 
had  the  effect  of  making  Nekhlyudov  surrender  himself 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  beautiful  surroundings  and  the 
appetizing  food,  and  to  the  ease  and  charm  of  relations 
with  well-brought-up  people  of  his  famihar  circle,  as 
though  everything,  amidst  which  he  had  lived  heretofore, 
had  been  a  dream,  from  which  he  had  awakened  to  the 
present  reality. 

At  dinner  there  were,  besides  the  home  people,  —  the 
general's  daughter  with  her  husband,  and  the  adjutant,  — 
an  Englishman,  a  rich  gold  miner,  and  the  governor  of  a 
distant  Siberian  city.  All  these  people  were  pleasant  to 
Nekhlyudov. 

The  Englishman,  a  healthy,  ruddy  man,  who  spoke 
French  very  poorly,  but  English  with  remarkable  fluency 
and  oratorical  impressiveness,  had  seen  a  great  deal,  and 
was  very  interesting  with  his  stories  of  America,  India, 
and  Siberia. 

The  young  gold  miner,  the  son  of  a  peasant,  in  an  even- 
ing dress  which  had  been  made  in  London  and  diamond 
cuff-buttons,  who  had  a  large  library,  gave  much  to 
charities,  and  held  European  hberal  convictions,  was  agree- 
able and  interesting  to  Nekhlyudov  because  he  repre- 
sented to  him  an  entirely  new  and  good  type  of  an 
educated  graft  of  European  culture  on  a  healthy  peasant 
stock. 


KESUEKECTION  103 

The  governor  of  the  remote  Siberian  city  was  that  same 
director  of  a  department,  of  whom  there  was  so  much 
talk  when  he  was  in  St.  Petersburg.  He  was  a  pufied-up 
man  with  scanty  curling  hair,  tender  blue  eyes,  large 
around  his  waist,  with  well-kept  white,  ring-bedecked 
hands,  and  a  pleasant  smile.  The  host  esteemed  this 
governor  because  among  bribe-takers  he  was  the  only  one 
who  did  not  receive  bribes.  The  hostess,  a  great  lover  of 
music  and  herself  a  very  good  pianist,  esteemed  him 
because  he  was  a  good  musician  and  played  at  four  hands 
with  her.  Nekhlyudov  was  in  such  a  benevolent  frame 
of  mind  that  even  this  man  was  not  disagreeable  to 
him. 

The  merry,  energetic  adjutant,  with  his  grayish  blue 
chin,  who  offered  his  services  to  everybody,  was  pleasing 
for  his  good  nature. 

Most  agreeable  to  Nekhlyudov  was  the  charming  couple 
of  the  general's  daughter  and  her  husband.  She  was  a 
homely,  simple-hearted  woman,  all  absorbed  in  her  first 
two  children ;  her  husband,  whom  she  had  married  for 
love,  after  a  long  struggle  with  her  parents,  a  graduate 
of  the  Moscow  University  and  a  liberal,  a  modest  and 
intelligent  man,  served  in  the  department  of  statistics, 
busying  himself  more  particularly  with  the  natives,  whom 
he  studied  and  loved,  and  whom  he  tried  to  save  from 
extinction. 

Not  only  were  they  all  kind  and  gracious  to  Nekhlyu- 
dov, but  they  were  obviously  glad  to  see  him,  as  a  new 
and  interesting  person.  The  general,  who  came  out  to 
the  dinner  in  his  military  coat,  with  a  white  cross  on  his 
neck,  greeted  Nekhlyudov  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and 
immediately  invited  him  to  the  appetizer  and  brandy.  To 
the  general's  question  of  what  Nekhlyudov  had  been  doing 
after  he  left  him,  Nekhlyudov  told  him  that  he  went  to 
the  post-office,  where  he  learned  of  the  pardon  granted 
to  the  person  of  whom  they  had  been  speaking  in  the 


104  RESURRECTION 

morning,  and  he  now  again  asked  permission  to  visit 
the  prison. 

The  general,  apparently  dissatisfied  to  hear  him  speak 
of  business  at  table,  frowned  and  did  not  say  any- 
thing. 

"  Do  you  wish  some  brandy  ? "  he  said  in  French  to 
the  Englishman,  who  had  come  up  to  them.  The  English- 
man drank  the  brandy  and  said  that  he  had  visited  the 
cathedral  and  factory,  but  that  he  would  still  like  to  see 
the  large  transportation  prison. 

"  Now,  this  is  excellent,"  said  the  general,  turning  to 
Nekhlyiidov,  —  "  you  can  go  together.  Give  them  a  per- 
mit," he  said  to  the  adjutant. 

"  When  do  you  want  to  go  there,"  Nekhlyudov  asked 
the  EngUshman. 

"  I  prefer  to  visit  prisons  in  the  evening,"  said  the 
EngHshman.  "  They  are  all  at  home,  no  preparations  are 
made,  and  everything  is  natural." 

"  Ah,  he  wants  to  see  it  in  all  its  glory  ?  Let  him. 
When  I  wrote,  they  paid  no  attention  to  me,  so  let  them 
hear  about  it  from  the  foreign  press,"  said  the  general, 
going  up  to  the  table,  where  the  hostess  pointed  out  the 
places  to  the  guests. 

Nekhlyudov  sat  between  the  hostess  and  the  English- 
man. Opposite  him  sat  the  general's  daughter  and  the 
ex-director  of  the  department. 

At  table  the  conversation  went  on  by  fits,  now  about 
India,  of  which  the  Englishman  told  something,  now  of 
the  Tonquin  expedition,  which  the  general  condemned 
severely,  and  now  of  the  universal  Siberian  rascahty  and 
bribery.  None  of  these  conversations  interested  Nekh- 
lyudov very  much. 

But  after  dinner,  when  they  were  at  coffee,  in  the 
drawing-room,  a  very  interesting  conversation  was  started 
between  the  Englishman  and  the  hostess  in  regard  to 
Gladstone,  during  which   Nekhlyudov  thought  he   had 


RESURRECTION  105 

made  many  a  clever  remark,  and  that  this  had  been 
noticed  by  his  interlocutors. 

Nekhlyiidov  felt  more  and  more  comfortable,  after  the 
good  dinner  and  wine,  and  at  coffee,  seated  in  a  soft  arm- 
chair, amidst  kind  and  well-brought-up  people.  And  when 
the  hostess,  in  reply  to  the  Englishman's  request,  sat  down 
at  the  piano  with  the  ex-director  of  the  department,  and 
they  played  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony,  which  they 
had  well  practised  together,  Nekhlyudov  became  conscious 
of  a  spiritual  condition  of  complete  self-contentment,  such 
as  he  had  not  experienced  for  a  long  time,  as  though  he 
now  for  the  first  time  discovered  what  a  good  man  he  was. 

The  piano  was  an  excellent  grand,  and  the  execution 
of  the  sympliony  was  good.  At  least,  Nekhlyudov  thought 
so,  and  he  loved  and  knew  that  symphony.  When  he 
heard  the  beautiful  andante,  he  felt  a  tickling  in  his  nose, 
being  touched  by  the  contemplation  of  himself  and  all 
his  virtues. 

Thanking  the  hostess  for  the  long-missed  enjoyment. 
Nekhlyudov  was  on  the  point  of  bidding  them  good-bye 
and  taking  his  leave,  when  the  daughter  of  the  hostess 
walked  over  to  him  with  a  determined  glance  and, 
blushing,  said : 

"  You  have  been  asking  about  my  children.  Would 
you  like  to  see  them  ? " 

"  She  thinks  that  everybody  is  interested  in  seeing  her 
children,"  said  the  mother,  smiling  at  the  sweet  tactless- 
ness of  her  daughter.  "  The  prince  is  not  at  all  interested 
in  this." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very,  very  much  interested," 
said  Nekhlyudov,  touched  by  this  happy,  ebullient  mater- 
nal feeling.     "  Please,  do  show  them  to  me  ! " 

"  She  is  taking  the  prince  to  see  her  young  brood," 
laughing,  cried  the  general  at  the  card-table,  where  he 
was  sitting  with  his  son-in-law,  the  gold  miner,  and  the 
adjutant.     "  Do  your  duty  ! " 


106  RESURRECTION 

In  the  meantime  the  young  woman,  apparently  agitated 
because  her  children  would  soon  be  subject  to  criticism, 
rapidly  preceded  Nekhlyiidov  to  the  inner  apartments. 
In  a  third  high  room,  papered  white  and  hghted  up  by  a 
small  lamp  with  a  dark  shade,  stood,  side  by  side,  two 
little  beds,  and  between  them  sat,  in  a  white  pelerine,  a 
Siberian  nurse  with  a  good-natured  face  and  high  cheek- 
bones. The  nurse  got  up  and  bowed.  The  mother  bent 
down  to  the  first  bed,  in  which,  with  her  mouth  open, 
was  softly  sleeping  a  two-year-old  girl  with  long,  wavy 
hair,  which  was  dishevelled  by  the  pillow. 

"  This  is  Katya,"  said  the  mother,  adjusting  the  blue- 
striped  quilt  coverlet,  from  underneath  which  peeped  out 
the  white  sole  of  a  foot.  "  Isn't  she  pretty  ?  She  is  only 
two  years  old." 

"  Charming ! " 

"And  tliis  is  Vasyiik,  as  his  grandfather  has  called 
him.  An  entirely  different  type.  He  is  a  Siberian, — 
don't  you  think  so  ? " 

"  A  beautiful  boy,"  said  Nekhlyudov,  looking  at  the 
chubby  face  of  the  boy,  who  was  sleeping  on  his  stomach. 

"  Eeally  ? "  said  the  mother,  with  a  significant  smile. 

Nekhlyudov  recalled  the  chains,  the  shaven  heads,  the 
brawls,  the  debauch,  dying  Kryltsov,  Katyusha  with  all 
her  past,  —  and  he  became  envious  and  wished  for  him- 
self just  such  a  refined  and  pure  happiness  as  this  now 
seemed  to  him  to  be. 

Having  expressed  several  praises  in  regard  to  her  chil- 
dren, and  thus  having  partly  satisfied  the  mother,  who 
eagerly  imbibed  all  these  praises,  he  followed  her  back  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  the  Englishman  was  waiting  for 
him,  in  order,  as  they  had  agreed,  to  go  together  to  the 
prison.  Nekhlyildov  bade  the  old  and  young  hosts  good- 
bye, and  with  the  Eughshman  went  out  on  the  porch  of 
the  general's  house. 

The  weather  had  changed.     A  heavy  snow  was  falling 


RESURKECTION 


107 


in  tufts  and  had  already  covered  the  road,  and  the  roof, 
and  the  trees  of  the  garden,  and  the  driveway,  and  the 
top  of  the  carriage,  and  the  horse's  back.  The  Eughsh- 
nian  had  his  own  carriage,  and  Nekhlyudov,  having  told 
the  Englishman's  coachman  to  drive  to  the  prison,  seated 
himself  in  his  own  vehicle  and,  with  a  heavy  sensation  of 
performing  an  unpleasant  duty,  followed  after  him  in  his 
vehicle,  which  rolled  softly  but  with  difficulty  over  the 
snow. 


XXV. 

The  gloomy  building  of  the  prison,  with  the  sentry 
and  lamp  near  the  gate,  in  spite  of  the  pure,  white  shroud 
which  now  covered  everything,  —  the  driveway,  the  roof, 
and  the  walls,  —  produced  by  the  lighted  windows  of  its 
facade  an  even  more  melancholy  impression  than  in  the 
morning. 

The  majestic  superintendent  came  out  to  the  gate,  and, 
reading  near  the  lamp  the  permit  which  had  been  given 
to  Nekhlyiidov  and  the  Englishman,  shrugged  his  mighty 
shoulders  in  perplexity,  but  obeyed  orders  and  invited 
the  visitors  to  follow  him.  He  first  led  them  into  the 
yard,  then  through  a  door  on  the  right,  and  up  the  stairs 
to  the  office.  He  asked  them  to  be  seated,  and  wanted  to 
know  what  he  could  do  for  them.  Upon  learning  that 
Nekhlyvidov  wished  to  see  Maslova,  he  sent  a  warden  for 
her,  and  got  ready  to  answer  the  questions  wliich  the 
Englishman  began  to  put  through  Nekhlyiidov. 

"  For  how  many  persons  is  the  prison  intended  ? "  asked 
the  Englishman.  "  How  many  inmates  are  there  now  ? 
How  many  men,  women,  and  children  ?  How  many 
hard  labour  convicts,  deportation  prisoners,  and  volun- 
teers ?     How  many  patients  ? " 

Nekhlyiidov  translated  the  words  of  the  Englishman 
and  of  the  superintendent,  without  entering  into  their 
meaning,  as  he  was  quite  unexpectedly  to  himself  agitated 
by  the  impending  meeting.  When,  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence  which  he  was  translating  to  the  Englishman, 
he  heard  approaching  steps,  and  the  door  of  the  office 
was  opened  and,  as  had  happened  often  before,  the 
warden  entered,  and,  after  him,  Katyusha,  in  a  prisoner's 

108 


RESUKRECTION  109 

bodice  and  wrapped  in  a  kerchief,  —  he,  upon  seeing  her, 
was  overcome  by  an  oppressive  sensation. 

"  I  want  to  Eve ;  I  want  a  family,  children ;  I  want  a 
human  existence,"  flashed  through  his  mind  just  as  she 
walked  into  the  room  with  rapid  steps,  without  raising 
her  eyes. 

He  arose  and  made  a  few  steps  toward  her.  Her  face 
seemed  stern  and  disagreeable  to  him.  She  was  the  same 
she  had  been  when  she  upbraided  him.  She  blushed  and 
grew  pale ;  her  fingers  convulsively  twirled  the  edge  of 
her  bodice ;  and  now  she  looked  into  his  face,  and  now 
again  lowered  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  have  been  pardoned  ? "  said 
Nekhlyiidov. 

"  Yes,  the  warden  told  me  so." 

"  So,  as  soon  as  the  papers  are  received,  you  may  leave 
and  settle  where  you  please  —    We  will  think  it  over  —  " 

She  hastened  to  interrupt  him  : 

"  What  have  I  to  think  about  ?  I  shall  be  wherever 
Vladimir  Ivanovich  will  be." 

Notwithstanding  her  agitation,  she  raised  her  eyes,  to 
Nekhlyudov's,  as  she  pronounced  this  rapidly  and  clearly, 
as  though  she  had  prepared  her  speech  in  advance. 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Why  not,  Dmitri  Ivanovich  ?  He  wants  me  to  live 
with  him  —  "  She  stopped,  frightened,  and  corrected  her- 
self, "  to  be  with  him.  What  can  there  be  better  for  me  ? 
I  must  regard  it  as  my  good  fortune.  What  else  could  I 
do?" 

"  One  of  two  things  is  the  case  :  either  she  loves  Simon- 
son  and  does  not  care  for  the  sacrifice  which  I  ima<:rined  I 
was  bringing  her,  or  she  still  loves  me  and  for  my  own 
good  renounces  me  and  burns  her  ships  by  uniting  her 
fate  with  that  of  Siraonson,"  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  and  he 
felt  ashamed.     He  was  conscious  of  blushing. 

"  If  you  love  him  —  "  he  said. 


110  RESURRECTION 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  love.  I  have  given  that  up  long 
ago.     Besides,  Vladimir  Ivanovich  is  quite  a  different  man." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  began  Nekhlyvidov.  "  He  is  a  fine 
man,  and  I  think  —  " 

She  again  interrupted  him,  as  though  fearing  lest  he 
should  sav  too  much,  or  she  not  enough. 

"  Dmitri  Ivanovich,  you  nmst  forgive  me  for  not  doing 
what  you  want,"  she  said,  looking  into  his  eyes  with  her 
mysterious,  squinting  glance.  "  Apparently  this  is  best. 
You,  too,  must  Hve." 

She  told  him  exactly  what  he  had  been  saying  to  him- 
self. But  now  he  was  no  longer  thinking  of  this  ;  he  was 
thinking  and  feeling  something  quite  different.  He  was 
not  only  ashamed,  but  sorry  for  everything  he  was  losing 
in  her. 

"  I  did  not  expect  this,"  he  said. 

"  Why  should  you  hve  and  torture  yourself  here  ?  You 
have  suffered  enough." 

"  I  have  not  suffered  ;  I  was  happy  here,  and  I  should 
like  to  serve  vou  more,  if  I  could." 

"  We,"  she  said,  "  we,"  and  she  looked  at  Nekhlyildov, 
"  do  not  need  anything.  You  have  done  enough  for  me 
as  it  is.  If  it  were  not  for  you  —  "  she  wanted  to  say 
something,  but  her  voice  quivered. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  thank  me  for,"  said  Nekhlyildov. 

"  What  is  the  use  casting  accounts  ?  God  will  cast  our 
account,"  she  muttered,  and  her  black  eyes  glistened  with 
tears  that  had  appeared  there. 

"  What  a  good  woman  you  are  ! "  he  said. 

"  I  good  ? "  she  said  through  tears,  a  pitiful  smile  light- 
ing up  her  face. 

"  Are  you  ready  ? "  the  Englishman  asked,  in  the  mean- 
time. 

"  Directly,"  Nekhlyildov  answered,  and  asked  her  for 
Kryltsov's  health. 

She  overcame  her  agitation,  and  told  him  quietly  what 


RESURRECTION  111 

she  knew :  Kryltsov  had  become  very  feeble  on  the  road, 
and  was  immediately  after  their  arrival  placed  in  the  hos- 
pital. Marya  Pavlovna  was  very  much  disturbed  about 
him,  and  asked  to  be  taken  as  a  nurse  to  the  hospital,  but 
they  would  not  have  her. 

"  I  had  better  go,"  she  said,  noticiug  that  the  English- 
man was  waiting  for  him. 

"  I  do  not  say  good-bye,  —  I  will  see  you  again,"  said 
Nekhlyiidov,  giving  her  his  hand. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly.  Their  eyes 
met,  and  in  the  strange,  squinting  glance  and  pitiful  smile, 
with  which  she  said  "forgive  me,"  instead  of  "good-bye," 
Nekhlyudov  read  that  of  the  two  propositions  as  to  the 
cause  of  her  decision  the  second  was  the  correct  one,  — 
that  she  loved  him  and  thought  that,  by  uniting  herself 
with  him,  she  would  ruin  his  hfe,  but  that,  by  going 
away  with  Simonson,  she  freed  him,  and  she  was  glad  to 
accomplish  that  which  she  wished  to  do,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  suffered  in  parting  from  him. 

She  pressed  his  hand,  swiftly  turned  around,  and  walked 
out. 

Nekhlyudov  looked  back  at  the  Englishman,  being 
ready  to  go  with  him,  but  the  Englishman  was  writing 
something  down  in  his  note-book.  Nekhlyudov  did  not 
disturb  him,  but  sat  down  on  a  wooden  sofa  which  was 
standing  near  the  wall,  and  suddenly  experienced  a  terri- 
ble fatigue.  He  was  not  tired  from  a  sleepless  night,  nor 
from  the  journey,  nor  from  agitation  ;  he  simply  felt  that 
he  was  dreadfully  tired  from  the  effect  of  his  whole  life. 

He  leaned  against  the  back  of  the  sofa,  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  and  immediately  fell  into  a  deep,  deathlike  sleep. 

"  Well,  would  you  like  to  visit  the  cells  now  ? "  asked 
the  superintendent. 

Nekhlyudov  awoke  and  wondered  where  he  was.  The 
Englishman  had  finished  his  notes  and  wished  to  see  the 
cells.     Nekhlyudov  followed  them,  tired  and  hstless. 


XXVL 

Having  passed  through  the  vestibule  and  the  nauseat- 
ing corridor,  where,  to  their  surprise,  they  found  two 
prisoners  urinating  straight  on  the  tioor,  the  superintend- 
ent, the  Englishman,  and  Nekhlyudov,  accompanied  by 
wardens,  entered  the  first  cell  of  the  convicts.  In  this  cell, 
with  benches  in  the  middle,  all  the  prisoners  were  already 
lying  down.  There  were  seventy  of  them.  They  lay 
head  to  head  and  side  to  side.  At  the  appearance  of  the 
visitors  all  jumped  up,  rattling  their  chains,  and  stood  up 
near  the  benches,  glistening  with  their  half-shaven  heads. 
Only  two  were  left  lying.  One  was  a  young  man,  who 
was  red  in  his  face  and  apparently  in  a  fever ;  the  other 
was  an  old  man,  who  did  not  stop  groaning. 

The  Englishman  asked  how  long  the  young  prisoner 
had  been  ill.  The  superintendent  .said  that  he  had  been 
ill  since  the  morning,  while  the  old  man  had  long  been 
suffering  from  his  stomach,  but  that  there  was  no  other 
place  for  him  because  the  hospital  was  overcrowded.  The 
Enghshman  shook  his  head  in  disapproval,  and  said  that 
he  should  like  to  say  a  few  words  to  these  men,  and  asked 
Nekhlyudov  to  translate  that  which  he  had  to  say  to 
them.  It  turned  out  that  the  Enghshman,  in  addition 
to  the  one  purpose  of  his  journey,  —  the  description  of  the 
places  of  deportation  and  confinement  in  Siberia,  had  also 
another  aim,  and  that  was  to  preach  salvation  by  faith  and 
redemption. 

"  Tell  them  that  Christ  pitied  and  loved  them,"  he  said, 

"  and  died  for  them.     They  will  be  saved  if  they  believe 

this."     While  he  was  saying  this,  all  the  prisoners  stood 

n2 


RESUKKECTION  113 

in  silence  near  the  benches,  with  their  hands  hanging 
down  their  sides.  "  In  this  book,  tell  them,"  he  concluded, 
"  it  tells  all  about  it.  Are  there  any  among  them  who 
can  read  ? " 

It  turned  out  that  there  were  more  than  twenty  who 
could  read.  The  Englishman  took  a  few  bound  copies  of 
the  New  Testament  out  of  a  hand-bag,  and  the  muscular 
hands,  with  strong,  black  nails,  were  stretched  out  toward 
him,  pushing  each  other  away.  He  left  two  Gospels  in 
this  cell  and  went  to  the  next. 

In  the  next  cell  it  was  the  same.  There  was  the 
same  closeness  and  stench.  Just  as  in  the  other,  an 
image  was  hanging  in  front,  between  two  windows,  and 
to  the  left  of  the  door  stood  the  stink-vat,  and  all  lay  in 
the  same  way,  close  together,  and  side  by  side,  and  they 
all  jumped  up  and  arrayed  themselves  in  the  same 
manner,  and  similarly  three  persons  remained  lying  down. 
Two  of  these  raised  themselves  and  sat  down,  while  one 
remained  lying  and  did  not  even  look  at  the  visitors : 
these  were  sick  persons.  The  Englishman  repeated  his 
speech  and  again  distributed  two  Gospels. 

In  the  third  cell  there  were  four  sick  people.  To  the 
Englishman's  question  why  it  was  that  the  sick  were 
not  put  together  in  one  room,  the  superintendent  an- 
swered that  they  did  not  wish  it  themselves.  These 
patients,  he  said,  were  not  suffering  from  infectious  dis- 
eases, and  the  physician's  sergeant  was  watching  them  and 
giving  them  attention. 

"  He  has  not  shown  up  for  two  weeks,"  said  a  voice. 

The  superintendent  did  not  answer  and  led  them  to  the 
neighbouring  room.  The  door  was  again  unlocked,  and 
again  all  arose  and  grew  silent,  and  again  the  Englishman 
distributed  Gospels ;  the  same  took  place  in  the  fifth 
and  sixth  cells,  on  the  right  and  left. 

From  the  hard  labour  convicts  they  went  over  to 
the  deportation  prisoners,  and  from  the  deportation  pris- 


114  KESURRECTION 

oners  to  the  communal  prisoners  and  to  those  who  followed 
voluntarily.  It  was  the  same  everywhere.  Everywhere 
the  same  cold,  hungry,  idle,  diseased,  humiliated,  confined 
people  looked  like  wild  beasts. 

Having  distributed  a  set  number  of  Gospels,  the  Eng- 
lishman did  not  give  away  any  more,  and  did  not  even 
make  his  speech.  The  oppressive  spectacle  and,  chiefly, 
the  stifling  atmosphere  apparently  undermined  even  his 
energy,  and  he  went  from  cell  to  cell,  saying  only,  "  All 
right,"  to  all  the  remarks  of  the  superintendent  as  to  the 
prisoners  of  each  cell. 

Nekhlyiidov  walked  around  as  if  in  a  sleep,  having  no 
strength  to  excuse  himself  and  go  away,  and  experiencing 
all  the  time  the  same  fatigue  and  hopelessness. 


XXVII. 

In  one  of  the  cells  of  the  deportation  prisoners,  Nekh- 
lyildov,  to  his  surprise,  saw  the  strange  old  man  whom 
he  had  seen  in  the  morning  on  the  ferry.  This  old  man, 
all  wrinkled  and  with  shaggy  hair,  dressed  in  nothing  but 
a  dirty  ash-coloured  shirt  with  holes  at  the  shoulder,  and 
trousers  of  the  same  description,  was  sitting  barefooted 
on  the  floor  near  the  benches  and  casting  a  stern,  inter- 
rogative glance  upon  the  strangers.  His  emaciated  body, 
which  could  be  seen  through  the  holes  in  his  shirt,  looked 
wretched  and  weak,  but  his  face  looked  even  more  ear- 
nestly concentrated  and  animated  than  on  the  ferry.  All 
the  prisoners  jumped  up,  as  in  the  other  cells,  and  stood 
up  erect  at  the  sight  of  the  entering  officers  ;  but  the  old 
man  remained  sitting.  His  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  eye- 
brows frowned  in  anger. 

"  Get  up  I "  the  superintendent  cried  to  him. 

The  old  man  did  not  stir  and  only  smiled  contemp- 
tuously, 

"  Your  servants  are  standing  before  you,  but  I  am  not 
your  servant.  You  have  the  seal  — "  muttered  the  old 
man,  pointing  to  the  superintendent's  forehead. 

"  What  ? "  the  superintendent  cried,  threateningly,  mov- 
ing toward  him. 

"  I  know  this  man,"  Nekhlyvidov  hastened  to  say. 
"What  has  he  been  arrested  for  ? " 

"  The  police  sent  him  up  for  having  no  passport.  We 
ask  them  not  to  send  them,  but  they  continue  doing  so," 
the  superintendent  said,  angrily,  looking  askance  at  the 

old  man. 

115 


116  HESUKRECTION 

"  You,  I  see,  are  also  of  the  legion  of  the  Antichrist,'* 
the  old  man  turned  to  Nekhlyudov. 

"  No,  I  am  a  visitor,"  said  Nekhlyudov. 

"  Well,  have  you  come  to  see  how  the  Antichrist 
tortures  people  ?  All  right,  look  !  He  has  taken  up  a  lot  of 
people  and  has  shut  a  whole  army  up  in  a  cage.  People 
ought  to  eat  their  bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  Lrows,  and 
he  has  shut  them  up  like  pigs  and  feeds  them  without 
work  so  as  to  make  beasts  of  them." 

"  What  does  he  say  ? "  asked  the  Englishman. 

Nekhlyudov  told  him  that  the  old  man  condemned  the 
superintendent  for  keeping  people  under  restraint. 

"  What,  then,  ask  him,  is  to  be  done  with  those  who 
transgress  the  law  ? "  askod  the  Englishman. 

Nekhlyudov  translated  the  question. 

The  old  man  laughed  out  strangely,  displaying  two 
rows  of  sound  teeth. 

"  The  law  !  "  he  repeated,  contemptuously.  "  First  he 
has  robbed  all,  the  whole  earth,  has  taken  away  the 
riches  of  all  the  people,  has  turned  it  to  his  own  uses, 
has  beaten  all  such  as  went  out  against  him,  and  then 
he  wrote  a  law  not  to  rob  and  kill.  He  ought  to  have 
written  that  law  before." 

Nekhlyudov  translated.     The  Englishman  smiled. 

"  Still,  ask  him  what  is  to  be  done  now  with  thieves 
and  murderers  ?     Ask  him  ! " 

Nekhlyudov  again  translated  the  question.  The  old 
man  frowned  austerely. 

"  Tell  him  to  take  the  seal  of  the  Antichrist  away 
from  him,  then  there  will  be  no  thieves  and  murderers. 
Tell  him  so ! " 

"  He  is  crazy  ! "  said  the  Englishman,  when  Nekhlyu- 
dov translated  to  him  the  words  of  the  old  man,  and, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  went  out  from  the  cell. 

"  You  do  your  duty,  and  leave  them  alone  !  Every- 
body is  for  himself.     God  knows  whom  to  punish  and 


RESURRECTION  117 

whom  to  pardon,  but  we  do  not,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Be 
your  own  master,  then  there  will  be  no  need  of  masters. 
Go,  go,"  he  added,  scowling  and  flashing  his  eyes  on 
Nekhlyudov,  who  was  lagging  behind  in  the  cell.  "  You 
have  seen  how  the  servants  of  the  Antichrist  feed  lice 
on  human  beings.     Go,  go  !  " 

When  Nekhlyudov  came  out  into  the  corridor,  the 
Englishman  and  the  superintendent  were  standing  at 
the  open  door  of  an  empty  cell,  the  Englishman  asking  the 
meaning  of  that  cell.  The  superintendent  explained  to 
him  that  it  was  the  dead-house. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Englishman,  when  Nekhlyudov  trans- 
lated it  to  him,  and  expressed  his  desire  to  walk  in. 

The  dead-house  was  an  ordinary,  small  cell.  A  small 
lamp  was  burning  on  the  wall ;  it  dimly  Hghted  up  some 
bags  and  wood  which  was  lyin^  in  a  corner,  and  four  dead 
bodies  lying  on  the  benches,  to  the  right.  The  first  body, 
in  a  hempen  shirt  and  trousers,  was  that  of  a  tall  man, 
with  a  small,  pointed  beard  and  half  of  his  head  shaven  off. 
The  body  had  already  become  stiff ;  the  ash-gray  hands 
had  apparently  been  placed  over  the  breast,  but  they  had 
fallen  apart ;  the  feet,  too,  had  fallen  apart  and  had  their 
soles  turned  in  different  directions.  Next  to  him  lay,  in 
a  white  skirt  and  bodice,  a  barefooted,  bareheaded  old 
woman,  with  a  short  braid  of  scanty  hair,  a  small, 
wrinkled,  yellow  face,  and  a  sharp  nose.  Then,  after  the 
old  woman,  there  was  another  male  body  in  something 
of  a  lilac  colour.  This  colour  reminded  Nekhlyudov  of 
something. 

He  walked  over  to  the  body  and  began  to  look  at  it. 

A  small,  sharp,  upturned  little  beard ;  a  strong,  hand- 
some nose ;  a  white,  tall  forehead ;  scanty,  wavy  hair. 
He  recognized  the  famiKar  features  and  did  not  believe 
his  own  eyes.  But  yesterday  he  had  seen  that  face  agi- 
tated, provoked,  suffering.  Now  it  was  quiet,  motionless, 
and  terribly  beautiful.     Yes,  it  was  Kryltsov,  or,  at  least, 


118  RESURRECTION 

that  vestige  which  his  material  existence  had  left  behind. 
"  Why  did  he  suffer  ?  Why  did  he  live  ?  Does  he  under- 
stand it  now  ? "  thought  Nekhlyiidov,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  there  was  no  answer,  that  there  was  nothing  but 
death,  and  he  felt  ill.  Without  bidding  the  Englishman 
good-bye,  Nekhlyiidov  asked  the  warden  to  take  him  out 
into  the  courtyard,  and,  feeling  the  necessity  of  being  left 
alone,  in  order  to  think  over  everything  which  he  had 
experienced  during  that  evening,  he  drove  back  to  the 
hotel. 


XXVIII. 

Nekhlyudov  did  not  go  to  bed,  but  for  a  long  time 
paced  up  and  down  in  the  room.  His  affair  with  Katyu- 
sha was  ended.  He  was  of  no  use  to  her,  and  this  made 
him  sad  and  ashamed.  But  it  was  not  this  that  tor- 
mented him.  His  other  affair  was  not  only  not  ended, 
but  it  tormented  him  much  more  than  ever  before  and 
demanded  his  activity.  All  that  terrible  evil,  which  he 
had  seen  and  experienced  during  all  that  time,  but  espe- 
cially on  that  day  in  that  horrible  prison,  all  that  evil, 
which  had  also  killed  dear  Kryltsov,  triumphed  and 
lorded  it,  and  he  could  see  no  possibility  of  subduing  it, 
nay,  not  even  of  understanding  how  to  subdue  it.  In  his 
imagination  arose  those  incarcerated  in  the  foul  air,  those 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  disgraced  people,  who  were 
confined  by  indifferent  generals,  prosecutors,  and  superin- 
tendents ;  he  recalled  the  strange,  free  old  man,  who  ac- 
cused the  authorities  and  who  was  declared  to  be  a  lunatic, 
and,  among  the  corpses,  the  beautiful,  wax-Hke,  angry  face 
of  dead  Kryltsov.  And  his  previous  question,  whether  he, 
Nekhlyudov,  was  insane,  or  those  people  who  considered 
themselves  wise  and  who  did  all  those  things ;  arose  be- 
fore him  with  renewed  force  and  demanded  an  answer. 

He  grew  tired  of  walking  up  and  down  and  of  think- 
ing. He  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  before  the  lamp  and 
mechanically  opened  the  Gospel,  which  the  Englishman 
had  given  him  as  a  souvenir,  and  which,  when  looking 
for  something  in  his  pockets,  he  had  thrown  out  on  the 
table.  "  They  say  that  here  is  the  solution  of  every- 
thing," he  thought,  and,  opening  the  Gospel,  he  began  to 

HP 


120  RESURRECTION 

read  at  the  place  where  he  had  opened  the  book.    Matthew, 
Chap.  XVIII. 

1.  At  the  same  time  came  the  disciples  unto  Jesus,  say- 
ing, Who  is  the  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?  —  he 
read. 

2.  And  Jesus  called  a  little  child  unto  him,  and  set  him 
in  the  midst  of  them, 

3.  And  said.  Verily  I  say  unto  you.  Except  ye  he  con- 
verted, and  hecome  as  little  children,  ye  shall  not  enter  into 
the  kingdo7n  of  heaven. 

Jf.  Wliosoever  therefore  shall  humhle  himself  as  this  little 
child,  the  same  is  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  so,"  he  thought,  recalHng  how  he  had 
experieuced  cahn  and  the  joy  of  hfe  only  iu  measure  as 
he  had  humbled  himself. 

5.  And  whoso  shall  receive  one  such  little  child  in  my 
name  receiveth  me. 

6.  But  whoso  shall  offend  one  of  these  little  ones  which 
believe  in  me,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a  millstone  were 
hanged  about  his  neck,  and  that  he  ivere  droivncd  in  the 
depth  of  the  sea. 

"  Why  does  it  say  here,  Whoso  receiveth  ?  and  whither 
will  he  receive  ?  and  what  means,  In  my  name  ? "  he 
asked  himself,  feelmg  that  these  words  did  not  mean 
anything  to  him.  "  And  why  a  millstone  about  the 
neck,  and  the  depth  of  the  sea  ?  No,  that  is  not  quite 
right :  it  is  not  exact,  not  clear,"  he  thought,  recalling 
how  he  had  several  times  tried  to  read  the  Gospel, 
and  how  the  indefiniteness  of  such  passages  had  repelled 
him.  He  read  the  seventh,  eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth 
verses  about  the  offences,  and  how  they  must  come,  of 
the  punishment  by  being  cast  into  hell  fire,  and  of  the 
angels  of  children,  who  in  heaven  behold  the  face  of 
the  Father.  "  What  a  pity  that  this  is  all  so  indistinct," 
he  thought, "  while  one  feels  that  there  is  something  good 
in  it ! " 


RESURRECTION  121 

11.  For  the  Son  of  man  is  come  to  save  that  which  is 
lost,  —  he  continued  to  read. 

1^.  How  think  ye  ?  if  a  man  have  an  hundred  sheep, 
and  one  of  them  he  gone  astray,  doth  he  not  leave  the 
ninety  and  nine,  and  yoeth  into  the  mountains,  and 
seekcth  that  which  is  gone  astray  ? 

13.  And  if  so  he  that  lie  find  it,  verily  I  say  unto  you, 
he  rcjoiceth  more  of  that  sheep,  than  of  the  ninety  and  nine 
which  went  not  astray. 

IJf..  Even  so  it  is  not  the  will  of  your  Father  which  is  in 
heaven,  that  one  of  these  little  ones  should  perish. 

"  Yes,  it  was  not  the  will  of  the  Father  that  they 
should  perish,  and  now  they  perish  by  the  hundred  and 
by  the  thousand.  And  there  is  no  means  of  saving  them," 
he  thought. 

21.  Then  came  Peter  to  him,  and  said,  he  continued 
reading,  Lord,  how  oft  shall  my  hr other  sin  against  me, 
and  I  forgive  him  ?  till  seven  times  ? 

22.  Jesus  saith  unto  him,  I  say  not  unto  thee.  Until 
seven  times :  hut  until  seventy  times  seven. 

23.  Therefore  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  likened  unto  a 
certain  king,  which  would  taJke  account  of  his  servants. 

24-  And  when  he  had  hegun  to  reckon,  one  was  hrought 
unto  him,  which  oivcd  him  ten  thousand  talents. 

25.  But  forasmuch  as  he  had  not  to  pay,  his  lord  com- 
manded him  to  he  sold,  and  his  wife,  and  children,  and  all 
that  he  had,  and  payment  to  he  made. 

26.  The  servant  therefore  fell  down,  and  worshipped 
hi7n,  saying.  Lord,  have  patience  with  me,  and  I  will  pay 
thee  all. 

27.  Then  the  lord  of  that  servant  was  moved  with  com- 
passion, and  loosed  him,  and  forgave  him  the  deht. 

28.  But  the  same  servant  went  out,  and  found  one  of 
his  fellow  servants  ivhich  otved  him  an  hundred  pence :  and 
he  laid  hands  on  him,  and  took  him  hy  the  throat,  saying. 
Pay  me  that  thou  owest. 


122  RESURRECTION 

29.  And  his  fellow  servant  fell  down  at  his  feet,  and 
besought  him,  saying,  Have  patience  with  me,  and  I  will 
pay  thee  all. 

30.  And  he  would  not :  hut  went  and  cast  him  into 
prison,  till  he  should  pay  the  debt. 

31.  So  when  his  fellow  servants  saw  what  was  done,  they 
were  very  sorry,  and  eame  and  told  itnto  their  lord  all  that 
was  done. 

32.  Then  his  lord,  after  that  he  had  called  him,  said 
unto  him,  0  thou  wicked  servant,  I  forgave  thee  all  that 
debt,  because  thou  desircdst  me  : 

33.  Shouldst  not  thou  also  have  heed  coinpassioii  on  thy 
fellow  servant,  even  as  I  had  pity  on  thee  ? 

"  And  only  this  ? "  Nekhlyiidov  suddenly  exclaimed 
aloud,  as  he  read  these  words.  And  the  inner  voice  of 
his  whole  being  said  :  "  Only  this." 

And  there  happened  with  Nekhlyiidov  that  which  often 
happens  with  people  who  live  a  spiritual  life,  namely,  the 
thought  which  at  first  had  appeared  to  him  as  strange 
and  paradoxical,  even  as  jocular,  ever  more  frequently 
finding  a  confirmation  in  life,  suddenly  arose  before  him 
as  the  simplest,  incontrovertible  truth.  Thus  the  thought 
became  clear  to  him  that  the  only  sure  means  of  saving 
people  from  that  terrible  evil  from  which  they  were 
suffering  was  for  people  to  acknowledge  themselves  guilty 
before  God  and  therefore  incapable  of  punishing  or  correct- 
ing others.  It  now  became  clear  to  him  that  all  that 
terrible  evil,  of  which  he  had  been  a  witness  in  jails  and 
prisons,  and  the  calm  self-confidence  of  those  who  com- 
mitted this  evil,  originated  in  the  fact  that  people  tried 
to  do  the  impossible :  being  evil  to  correct  the  evil. 
Vicious  people  tried  to  correct  vicious  people,  and  they 
thought  they  could  do  so  by  mechanical  means.  All  that 
came  of  it  was  that  needy  and  selfish  men,  having  made 
a  profession  of  this  supposed  punishment  and  correction 
of  people,  have  themselves  become  corrupted  to  the  last 


RESURRECTION  123 

degree,  and  did  not  stop  corrupting  those  whom  they 
tormented. 

Now  it  became  clear  to  him  what  was  the  cause  of  all 
the  horrors  which  he  had  seen,  and  what  was  to  be  done  in 
order  to  destroy  them.  The  answer,  wliich  he  had  been 
unable  to  find,  was  the  same  that  Christ  had  given  to 
Peter :  it  consisted  in  the  injunction  to  forgive  always, 
everybody,  an  endless  number  of  times,  because  there 
were  no  people  who  were  guiltless  themselves  and  who 
therefore  could  punish  or  correct. 

"  It  cannot  be  all  so  simple,"  Nekhlyudov  said  to  him- 
self, and  yet  he  saw  beyond  any  doubt  that,  however 
strange  it  had  appeared  to  him  in  the  beginning,  being 
used  to  the  opposite,  it  was  unquestionably  not  only  a 
theoretical,  but  also  the  most  practical  solution  of  the 
question.  The  customary  retort  about  what  to  do  with 
evil-doers,  whether  they  were  to  be  left  unpunished,  no 
longer  disturbed  him.  This  retort  would  have  a  meaning 
if  it  could  be  proved  that  punishment  diminishes  crime 
and  corrects  the  transgressors ;  but  when  the  very  oppo- 
site is  the  fact,  and  when  it  is  seen  that  it  is  not  in  the 
power  of  one  set  of  men  to  correct  another,  tlien  the  only 
sensible  thing  to  do  is  to  stop  doing  that  which  is  not 
only  useless  but  also  harmful,  and,  in  addition,  immoral 
and  cruel.  You  have  for  several  centuries  been  punish- 
ing criminals  whom  you  acknowledge  to  be  criminals. 
Well,  have  they  been  abolished  ?  They  have  not  only  not 
been  abolished,  but  their  numbers  have  increased,  by  those 
transgressors  who  are  corrupted  by  punishment,  and  by 
those  transgressing  judges,  prosecutors,  examining  magis- 
trates, jailers,  who  sit  in  judgment  over  people  and  punish 
them.  Nekhlyiidov  now  understood  that  society  and 
order  existed  in  general,  not  because  there  are  these  legal- 
ized transgressors,  who  judge  and  punish  people,  but 
because,  in  spite  of  such  corruption,  people  do  not  cease 
pitying  and  loving  each  other. 


124  KESURRECTION 

"  I  hope  to  find  the  confirmation  of  this  thought  in  this 
very  Gospel."  Nekhlyudov  began  to  read  it  from  the 
beginning.  Having  read  the  sermon  on  the  mount,  which 
had  always  touched  him,  he  now  for  the  first  time  saw  in 
this  sermon,  not  abstract  beautiful  thoughts,  and  such 
as  for  the  greater  part  presented  exaggerated  and  unreal- 
izable demands,  but  simple,  clear,  and  practical  injunc- 
tions, which,  in  case  of  their  execution  (which  was  quite 
possible),  established  that  to  him  wonderful  new  order  of 
human  society,  in  which  all  the  violence,  which  so  pro- 
voked Nekhlyudov,  was  not  only  eliminated,  but  also  the 
greatest  possible  human  good  was  obtained,  —  the  king- 
dom of  God  upon  earth. 

There  were  five  such  injunctions. 

First  injunction  (Matt.  v.  21-26).  This  was  that  one 
must  not  only  not  kill  his  brother,  but  not  even  be  angry 
with  him ;  that  he  must  not  regard  any  one  as  insignifi- 
cant, "  Eaca  ; "  and  that  if  he  quarrelled  with  anyone,  he 
must  be  reconciled  before  offering  a  gift  to  God,  that  is, 
before  praying. 

Second  injunction  (Matt.  v.  27-32).  This  was  that 
man  must  not  only  not  commit  adultery,  but  must  also 
avoid  the  enjoyment  of  a  woman's  beauty,  and  having 
once  come  together  with  a  woman,  he  must  not  be  false 
to  her. 

Third  injunction  (Matt.  v.  33-37).  This  was  that  man 
must  not  promise  anything  with  oaths. 

Fourth  injunction  (Matt.  v.  38-42).  This  was  that 
man  must  not  only  not  give  an  eye  for  an  eye,  but  must 
also  turn  the  other  cheek  to  him  who  has  smitten  him 
on  one ;  that  he  must  forgive  offences  and  in  humility 
bear  them,  and  never  refuse  people  that  which  they  ask 
of  him. 

Fifth  injunction  (Matt.  v.  43-48).  This  was  that  man 
nmst  not  only  not  hate  his  enemies,  and  not  fight  with 
them,  but  he  must  love,  aid,  and  serve  them. 


RESURRECTION  126 

Nekhlyudov  stared  at  the  light  of  the  burning  lamp 
and  stood  as  though  petrified.  Eecalling  the  unseemli- 
ness of  our  life,  he  vividly  imagined  what  this  life  might 
be  if  people  were  brought  up  under  these  rules,  and  a 
long-forgotten  transport  took  possession  of  his  soul,  as 
though,  after  long  pining  and  suffering,  he  had  suddenly 
found  peace  and  freedom. 

He  did  not  sleep  all  night,  and,  as  happens  with  many, 
many  people  who  read  the  Gospel,  he  now  for  the  first 
time  understood  in  all  their  significance  the  words  which 
had  been  read  many  a  time  without  leaving  any  impres- 
sion. As  a  sponge  sucks  in  the  water,  so  he  imbibed 
everything  necessary,  important,  and  joyful,  which  was 
revealed  to  him  in  this  book.  And  everything  which  he 
read  seemed  familiar  tc  him,  seemed  to  confirm  and  bring 
into  consciousness  that  which  he  had  known  long  ago, 
but  did  not  completely  become  conscious  of  or  believe. 
But  he  not  only  perceived  and  believed  that,  by  executing 
these  injunctions,  people  would  attain  the  highest  possible 
good ;  he  also  perceived  and  believed  that  a  man  had 
nothing  else  to  do  than  to  carry  out  these  injunctions, 
that  in  this  lay  the  only  sensible  meaning  of  human  life, 
and  that  every  deviation  from  it  was  a  mistake  which 
immediately  brought  punishment  in  its  wake.  This 
flowed  from  the  whole  teaching,  and  was  with  special 
clearness  expressed  in  the  parable  of  the  vineyards.  The 
husbandmen  imagined  that  the  vineyard,  where  they  had 
been  sent  to  work  for  their  master,  was  their  property ; 
that  everything  which  was  in  the  vineyard  was  made  for 
them,  and  all  that  they  had  to  do  was  to  enjoy  themselves 
in  this  vineyard,  forgetting  their  master,  and  killing  those 
who  reminded  them  of  their  master  and  of  their  obhga- 
tions  to  him. 

"  Just  so  we  act,"  thought  Nekhlyudov,  "  living  in  the 
insipid  conviction  that  we  are  ourselves  the  masters  of 
our  hfe,  and  that   it  was  given  us  for  our  enjoyment. 


126  REStJKEECTIOl^ 

This  is  obviously  foolish.  If  we  have  been  sent  here, 
this  was  done  by  somebody's  will  and  for  a  certain  pur- 
pose. We,  however,  have  decided  that  we  are  living  for 
our  own  joy,  and  apparently  we  are  suffering  for  it,  as 
will  the  husbaudman  who  is  not  doing  the  will  of  his 
master.  But  the  master's  will  is  expressed  in  these 
injunctions.  Let  the  people  execute  these  injunctions, 
and  there  will  be  on  earth  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  people 
will  attain  the  highest  good,  which  is  within  their  reach." 

Seek  ye  the  kingdom  of  God,  mid  his  righteousness  ;  and 
all  these  things  shall  he  added  unto  you.  We  are  seeking 
"  all  these  things  "  and  obviously  do  not  find  them. 

"  So  this  is  the  work  of  my  life.  One  thing  has  ended, 
and  another  has  begun." 

With  that  uight  there  began  for  Nekhlyudov  an  entirely 
new  life,  not  so  much  because  he  entered  it  under  new 
conditions,  as  because  everything  which  happened  to  him 
after  that  assumed  an  entirely  new  meaning. 

The  future  will  show  how  this  new  period  of  his  life 
will  end. 

Moscow,  December  12,  1899. 


TWO  PASSAGES  FEOM  EESURRECTION,  RE- 
JECTED BY  THE  AUTHOR  FROM  THE 
FINAL   EDITION 

THE    EXECUTION 

(Passage  omitted  in  Part  I.,  Chap.  XL VI.,  after  liue  23,  on  p.  234  of 

Vol.  XXI.) 

"  What  are  you  standing  there  for  ?  Lie  down  !  " 
The  vagabond  loosened  his  trousers,  which  dropped  to 
the  floor,  and  stepped  out  of  them  and  of  his  prison  shoes, 
and  himself  walked  over  to  the  bench.  The  wardens 
caught  him  under  his  arms  and  put  him  on  the  bench. 
The  prisoner's  legs  fell  to  either  side  of  the  bench.  One 
warden  raised  up  his  legs  and  lay  down  upon  them,  two 
others  caught  hold  of  the  prisoner's  arms  and  pressed  them 
down  on  the  bench,  a  fourth  raised  his  shirt  up  to  the 
small  of  his  back,  laying  bare  his  ribs,  which  protruded 
beneath  his  sallow  skin,  the  groove  of  his  spine,  the  curva- 
ture of  his  waist,  and  the  firm,  muscular  thighs  of  his 
crooked  legs.  Petrdv,  the  broad-shouldered  and  broad- 
breasted,  muscular  warden,  chose  one  of  the  bunches  of 
birch  rods  prepared  for  the  occasion,  spit  into  his  hands, 
and,  firmly  grasping  the  rods  and  swishing  them  with  a 
whistling  noise,  began  to  strike  the  bare  body.  With 
every  stroke  the  vagabond  uttered  a  dull  sound  and  shud- 
dered, in  so  far  as  he  could  do  so  under  the  load  of  the 
wardens.  Vasilev  was  pale,  now  and  then  casting  his 
eyes  upon  what  was  in  front  of  him,  and  again  lowering 
them.     On  the  vagabond's  yellow  back  there  appenred  the 

127 


128  KESURRECTION 

intersecting  lines  of  wales,  and  his  dull  sounds  passed 
into  groans. 

But  Petrov,  who  had  received  a  black  eye,  as  they  were 
leading  Vasilev  to  the  career,  paid  back  for  the  offence  by 
striking  in  such  a  way  that  the  tips  of  the  rods  rebounded, 
and  the  vagabond's  sallow  buttocks  and  hips  soon  were 
smeared  with  red  blood. 

When  the  vagabond  was  released,  and  he,  with  trem- 
bling nether  jaw,  wiped  the  blood  away  with  the  skirt  of 
his  shirt  and  began  to  pull  in  the  cord  of  his  hempen 
trousers,  the  chief  warden  put  his  hand  on  Vasilev's 
cloak. 

"  Take  it  off,"  he  said. 

Vasilev  looked  as  though  he  smiled,  displaying  his  white 
teeth  above  his  black  beard,  and  his  whole  intelligent, 
energetic  face  became  distorted.  He  broke  the  cords  of 
his  garment,  threw  it  off,  and  lay  down,  baring  his  beauti- 
ful, lithe,  straight,  muscular  legs. 

"  You  are  not  —  "  he  nuittered  the  beginning  of  some 
sentence  ;  but  he  suddenly  faltered,  compressing  his  teeth 
and  preparing  himself  for  the  blow. 

Petrov  threw  away  the  tattered  rods,  took  another 
bunch  from  among  those  which  lay  on  the  window,  and 
there  began  the  new  torture.  Vasilev  cried  from  the  very 
start. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  and  he  struggled  so  much  that  the  wardens 
got  down  on  their  knees  and  so  hung  to  his  shoulders  that 
their  faces  grew  red  from  effort. 

"  Thirty,"  said  the  inspector,  when  it  was  only  twenty- 
six. 

"  Not  at  all,  your  Honour,  only  twenty-six." 

"  Thirty,  thirty,"  the  inspector  said,  scowling  and  claw- 
ing his  beard. 

Vasilev  did  not  get  up  when  he  was  released. 

"  Get  up,"  said  one  of  the  wardens,  raising  him  up. 

Vasilev  raised  himself,  but  tottered,  and  would  have 


RESURKECTION 


129 


fallen  if  the  wardens  had  not  held  him  up.  He  breathed 
heavily  and  in  short  puffs.  His  pale  lips  trembled,  emit- 
ting a  strange  sound,  which  resembled  the  one  made  by- 
people  who  with  their  lips  try  to  amuse  children. 

His  knees  trembled  and  struck  against  each  other. 

"  That's  for  striking  wardens  in  the  face,"  muttered 
Petrov,  throwing  away  the  rods  and  trying  to  encourage 
and  justify  himself;  but  he  was  not  at  all  at  his  ease, 
and,  letting  the  rolled-up  sleeves  of  his  uniform  down 
over  his  hirsute  arm  and  wiping  the  perspiration,  which 
had  come  out  on  his  forehead,  with  a  dirty  handkerchief, 
he  went  out  of  the  visiting-room. 

"  To  the  hospital,"  said  the  inspector,  and,  scowling  and 
clearing  his  throat,  as  though  he  had  swallowed  something 
bitter  and  poisonous,  he  sat  down  on  the  window-sill  and 
lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  Shall  I  go  home  ? "  he  thought ;  but  he  recalled  the 
rapid  passages  of  the  Hungarian  dances  in  Liszt's  arrange- 
ment, which  he  had  heard  for  two  days  and  even  that 
same  morning,  and  a  greater  gloom  fell  upon  his  soul. 
Just  then  Nekhlyiidov  was  announced  to  him. 

"  What  does  he  want,  anyhow  ?  "  thought  the  inspector, 
and,  breathing  heavily,  he  went  into  the  vestibule. 


IN  THE  BAREACKS 

(Passage  omitted  from  Chap.  XIX.  of  Part  11.) 

At  this  same  time,  in  one  of  the  barracks,  a  woman, 
with  dress  torn  over  her  breast,  hair  dishevelled,  and  eyes 
bulging  out,  shrieked  in  a  desperate  voice  and  struck  her 
head,  now  against  the  wall,  and  now  against  the  door. 
The  sentry  looked  through  the  peep-hole,  went  away,  and 
continued  to  walk  up  and  down.  And  every  time  his  eye 
appeared  at  the  hole,  the  shriek  grew  louder. 


130  RESUKRECTION 

"  Don't  look  !  Kill  me,  —  give  me  a  knife  or  poison,  — 
I  cannot  stand  it,  I  cannot ! " 

Steps  were  heard.  The  door  opening  into  the  corridor 
was  opened,  and  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer  came 
in  through  it,  accompanied  by  two  attendants.  In  the 
neighbouring  cells  eyes  appeared  at  the  peep-holes,  but  the 
officer  closed  these,  as  he  passed  by. 

"  Murderers,  tormentors  ! "  was  heard  in  one  ;  in  another 
they  struck  the  door  with  their  fists. 

The  officer  was  pale.  Though  this  was  frequently  re- 
peated, it  was  always  terrible  and  oppressive.  The 
moment  the  door  was  opened  to  the  cell  of  the  hysterical 
woman,  she  rushed  up  toward  it  and  wanted  to  get  out. 

"Let  me  go,  let  me,"  she  shrieked,  with  one  hand 
grasping  her  torn  dress  over  her  breast,  and  with  the  other 
throwing  back  of  her  ear  some  strands  of  scanty  hair 
which  here  and  there  was  streaked  with  gray. 

"  You  know  you  can't.  Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  the 
officer,  standing  at  the  door. 

"  Let  me,  or  kill  me ! "  she  shouted,  pushing  him 
away. 

"  Stop  it,"  the  officer  said,  sternly,  but  she  paid  no 
attention  to  him. 

The  officer  beckoned  to  the  attendants,  and  they  seized 
her.     She  shrieked  louder  than  before. 

"  Stop,  or  it  will  be  only  worse  for  you." 

She  continued  to  cry. 

"  Keep  quiet ! " 

«  I  won't.     Oh,  oh,  oh!" 

But  here  her  cry  was  suddenly  changed  to  moaning, 
and  then  died  down  entirely.  One  of  the  attendants 
caught  hold  of  her  arms,  which  he  bound,  and  the  other 
gagged  her  with  a  piece  of  cloth,  which  he  tied  behind  her 
head,  so  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  tear  it  off. 

She  looked  at  the  attendants  and  at  the  officer  with 
eyes  bulging  out  of  their  orbits,  her  whole  face  jerked,  a 


KESURRECTION  131 

noisy  breath  issued  from  her  nose,  and  her  shoulders  rose 
up  to  her  ears  and  fell  again. 

"  You  must  not  make  such  a  scandal,  —  I  told  you  so 
before.     It  is  your  own  fault,"  said  the  officer,  going  out. 

The  chimes  played  in  a  soft  tone,  "  How  glorious  is  our 
Lord  in  Zion."  The  sentries  were  changed.  In  the 
cathedral  caudles  burned,  and  a  sentry  stood  at  the  tombs 
of  the  Tsars. 


WHAT    IS    ART? 

1897 


WHAT    IS    ART? 


I. 

Take  any  newspaper  of  our  time,  and  you  will  find  in 
it  a  department  of  the  theatre  and  of  music;  in  almost 
any  number  you  will  find  the  description  of  this  or  that 
exhibition  or  of  a  separate  picture,  and  in  each  you  will 
find  reviews  of  newly  published  books  of  artistic  contents, 
of  verses,  stories,  and  novels. 

There  is  a  detailed  description,  immediately  after  it  has 
happened,  of  how  such  and  such  an  actor  or  actress  played 
this  r61e  or  that  in  such  and  such  a  drama,  comedy,  or 
opera,  and  of  what  talent  he  or  she  displayed,  and  of  what 
the  contents  of  the  new  drama,  comedy,  or  opera  are,  and 
of  their  failures  and  good  points.  With  similar  details 
and  care  the  newspaper  describes  how  such  and  such  an 
artist  sang  or  played  on  the  piano  or  violin  such  and  such 
a  piece  of  music,  and  in  what  the  good  and  bad  points  of 
this  piece  and  of  liis  playing  consist.  In  every  large  city 
there  is  always,  if  not  several,  at  least  one  exhibition  of 
new  paintings,  the  good  and  bad  quahties  of  which  are 
analyzed  by  critics  and  connoisseurs  with  the  greatest 
profundity.  Nearly  every  day  there  appear  new  novels 
and  verses,  separately  and  in  periodicals,  and  the  news- 
papers regard  it  as  their  duty  to  give  detailed  accounts 
to  their  readers  about  these  productions  of  art. 

For   the    support  of   art   in    Russia,  where  only  one- 

135 


136  WHAT    IS    ART? 

hundredth  part  of  what  is  necessary  for  furnishing  in- 
struction to  the  whole  people  is  expended  on  pubhc 
education,  the  government  offers  millions  as  subsidies  to 
academies,  conservatories,  and  theatres.  In  France  eight 
millions  are  set  aside  for  the  arts ;  the  same  is  true  of 
Germany  and  of  England.  In  every  large  city  they  build 
enormous  structures  for  museums,  academies,  conserva- 
tories, dramatic  schools,  for  performances  and  concerts. 
Hundreds  of  thousands  of  workmen — carpenters,  ma- 
sons, painters,  joiners,  paper-hangers,  tailors,  wig-makers, 
jewellers,  bronzers,  compositors  —  pass  their  whole  lives 
at  liard  work  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  demands  of  art, 
so  that  there  is  hardly  any  other  human  activity,  except 
the  military,  which  absorbs  so  many  forces  as  this. 

But  it  is  not  only  these  enormous  labours  that  are 
wasted  on  this  activity,- — on  it,  as  on  war,  human  lives 
are  wasted  outright :  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men  devote 
all  their  lives  from  their  earliest  youth,  in  order  to  learn 
how  to  twirl  their  feet  very  rapidly  (dancers) ;  others 
'the  musicians)  —  to  learn  how  to  run  rapidly  over  the 
keys  or  over  the  strings  ;  others  again  (painters)  —  to 
learn  how  to  paint  with  colours  everything  they  see ;  and 
others-  to  know  how  to  twist  every  phrase  in  every  way 
imaginable,  and  to  find  a  rhyme  for  every  word.  And 
such  people,  who  frequently  are  very  good,  clever  men, 
capable  of  any  useful  work,  grow  wild  in  these  exclusive, 
stupefying  occupations  and  become  dulled  to  all  serious 
phenomena  of  life,  and  one-sided  and  completely  self- 
satisfied  specialists,  who  know  only  how  to  twirl  their 
legs,  their  tongues,  or  their  fingers. 

But  tliis  is  not  enough.  I  remember  I  was  once  present 
at  the  rehearsal  of  one  of  the  most  common  modern  operas, 
which  is  given  in  all  the  theatres  of  Europe  and  of  America. 

I  came  after  the  first  act  had  begun.  In  order  to  reach 
the  auditorium  I  had  to  cross  behind  the  curtain.  I  was 
Jed  through  dark  corridors  and  passages  in  the  basement 


WHAT   IS   ART?  '  137 

of  an  enormous  building,  past  enormous  machines  for  the 
change  of  the  scenery  and  for  iUumination,  where  in  the 
darkness  and  dust  I  saw  men  working  at  something.  One 
of  these  labourers,  with  a  gray,  lean  face,  dressed  in  a  dirty 
blouse,  with  dirty  working  hands  with  sprawling  fingers, 
apparently  tired  and  dissatisfied  with  somethiug,  passed 
by  me,  angrily  rebuking  some  one.  Ascending  a  dark 
staircase,  I  entered  the  stage  beliind  the  curtain.  Among 
scenery  lying  in  heaps,  curtains,  and  some  kind  of  poles, 
were  standing  abou^  and  moving,  tens,  if  not  hundreds,  of 
painted  and  dressed-u;^  men  in  costumes  fitting  tightly 
over  their  thighs  and  calves,  and  women  with  their  bodies 
bared  as  much  as  always.  All  these  were  singers,  choir- 
men  and  girls,  and  ballet-dancers,  waiting  for  their  turn. 
My  guide  led  me  across  the  stage  and  across  a  plank 
bridge  over  the  orchestra,  where  sat  about  a  hundred 
musicians  of  every  description,  from  cymbals  to  flute  an'", 
harp,  into  the  dark  parterre.  On  an  elevation  between 
two  lamps  with  reflectors,  the  leader  of  the  musical  part, 
directing  the  orchestra  and  the  singers  and  the  whole 
getting  up  of  the  opera  in  general,  wac  sitting  on  a  chair 
before  a  desk,  holding  the  baton  in  his  hand. 

When  I  came,  the  performance  had  already?'  begun,  and 
on  the  stage  they  were  representing  the  procession  of  In- 
dians bringing  a  bride.  Besides  the  masquerading  men 
and  women,  two  men  in  frock  coats  were  running  up  and 
down  the  stage :  one,  the  manager  of  the  dramatic  pert, 
and  the  other,  who  was  stepping  with  extraordinary  light- 
ness in  his  soft  boots  and  running  from  one  place  to  another, 
the  teacher  of  dancing,  who  received  a  monthly  salary 
which  was  greater  than  what  ten  workmen  receive  in  a 
year. 

These  three  chiefs  arranged  the  singing,  the  orchestra, 
and  the  procession.  The  procession  was  being  performed, 
as  always,  by  pairs  with  tin-foil  halberds  on  their  shoul- 
ders.    AH  came  out  from  one  spot  and  walked  in  a  circle 


138  WHAT   IS    ART? 

and  again  in  a  circle,  and  then  stopped.  The  procession 
was  long  in  getting  into  shape;  now  the  Indians  with 
the  halberds  came  out  too  late,  now  too  early ;  now  they 
came  out  in  time,  but  crowded  too  much  in  goiug  out,  and 
now  they  did  not  crowd,  but  did  not  take  up  the  right 
positions  at  the  sides  of  the  stage,  and  every  time  every- 
thing stopped  and  began  anew.  The  procession  began 
with  a  recitative  of  a  man  dressed  up  as  a  Turk  or  some- 
thing like  that,  who,  opening  his  mouth  in  a  strange 
manner,  sang  out,  "I  accompany  the  bri-i-ide."  After 
smging  he  waved  his  arm,  —  which,  of  course,  was  bare, 
—  under  his  mantle. 

And  the  procession  begins,  but  the  French  horn  does 
something  wrong  in  a  chord  of  the  recitative,  and  the 
director,  shivering  as  though  from  a  misfortune  which 
has  happened  to  him,  strikes  the  desk  with  his  baton. 
Everything  comos  to  a  stop,  and  the  director,  turning  to 
the  orchestra,  attacks  the  French  horn,  scolding  him  with 
the  coarsest  of  words,  such  as  cabmen  curse  with,  because 
he  did  not  take  the  right  note.  And  again  everything 
begins  from  the  beginning.  The  Indians  with  the  halberds 
come  out  again,  stepping  softly  in  their  strange  foot- 
gear, and  again  the  singer  sings,  "  I  accompany  the  bri-i- 
ide."  But  here  the  pairs  stand  too  close.  Again  a  rap 
witli  the  baton,  and  scolding,  and  again  from  the  begin- 
ning. Again,  "  I  accompany  the  bri-i-ide ; "  again  the 
same  motion  with  the  bared  arm  from  under  the  mantle, 
and  the  pairs,  stepping  softly  with  their  halberds  on  their 
shoulders,  some  of  them  with  serious  and  sad  faces,  others 
chatting  and  smiling,  stand  around  and  begin  to  sing. 

Everything,  it  would  seem,  is  well,  but  again  there  is 
a  rap  with  the  baton,  and  the  director  begins  with  a  suf- 
fering and  furious  voice  to  scold  the  men  and  the  girls 
of  the  choir :  it  turns  out  that  during  the  singing  some 
members  of  the  choir  have  not  raised  their  hands  now 
and  then  in  sign  of  animation. 


WHAT    IS   ART?  139 

"  Are  you  dead,  eh  ?  Cows  !  Are  you  dead  that  you 
do  not  move  ? " 

Again  from  the  beginning,  again,  "I  accompany  the 
bri-i-ide,"  and  again  the  choir-girls  sing  with  gloomy 
faces,  and  now  one,  and  now  another  raises  her  hand. 
But  two  choir-girls  are  talking  to  each  other,  —  again  an 
energetic  rap  of  the  baton. 

"  Have  you  come  here  to  talk  ?  You  can  gossip  at 
home.  You  there,  in  the  red  pants,  stand  nearer.  Look 
at  me.     from  the  beginning." 

Again,  "I  accompany  the  bri-i-ide,"  —  and  so  it  lasts 
an  hour,  two,  three  hours.  Every  such  rehear.sal  lasts  six 
hours  in  succession.  Eaps  with  baton,  repetitions,  trans- 
positions, corrections  of  the  singers,  of  the  orchestra,  of 
the  procession,  of  the  dances,  and  everything  seasoned  with 
choice  curses.  Words,  like  "  ass,  stupids,  idiots,  swine," 
directed  to  the  musicians  and  the  singers,  I  heard  some- 
thing like  forty  times  during  one  hour.  And  the  unfor- 
tunate, physically  and  morally  distorted  man,  —  the  flute, 
the  French  horn,  the  singer,  —  to  whom  these  curses  are 
directed,  is  silent  and  does  what  he  is  commanded,  —  he 
repeats  twenty  times,  "  I  accompany  the  bri-i-ide,"  and 
twenty  times  sings  the  same  phrase,  and  again  marches 
in  his  yellow  shoes,  with  the  halberd  across  his  shoulders. 
The  director  knows  that  these  people  are  so  distorted  that 
they  are  not  good  for  anything  but  blowing  the  horn  and 
walking  with  a  halberd  and  in  yellow  shoes,  and  that  at 
the  same  time  they  have  become  accustomed  to  a  pleas- 
ant, luxurious  life,  and  will  endure  everything,  rather 
than  be  deprived  of  this  pleasant  life,  —  and  so  he  calmly 
abandons  himself  to  his  vulgarity,  the  more  so  since  he 
saw  this  in  Paris  and  in  Vienna  and  knows  that  the  best 
directors  do  so  and  that  this  is  the  musical  tradition  of 
great  artists,  who  are  so  much  absorbed  in  the  great  work 
of  their  art  that  they  have  no  time  to  analyze  the  feel- 
ings of  the  artists. 


l40  WHAT   IS   ART? 

It  is  difficult  to  find  a  more  disgusting  spectacle.  I 
have  seen  at  the  unloading  of  merchandise  one  labourer 
curse  another  for  not  having  supported  a  weight  which 
was  pressing  down  upon  him,  or  at  the  harvest  an  elder 
scolding  a  labourer  for  rounding  up  a  stack  badly,  when 
the  labourer  would  submissively  listen  in  silence.  No 
matter  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  see  this,  the  unpleasant 
feeling  is  mitigated  by  the  consciousness  that  here  a 
necessary  and  important  work  is  being  done  and  that  the 
mistake  for  which  the  boss  is  scolding  the  labourer  may 
have  spoiled  the  necessary  work. 

But  what  is  being  done  here,  and  for  what  purpose, 
and  for  whom  ?  It  is  very  likely  that  he,  the  director,  is 
himself  worn  out  like  that  labourer ;  it  is  even  evident 
that  he  is  exhausted,  —  but  who  compels  him  to  wear 
himself  out  ?  Yes,  and  for  what  purpose  does  he  wear 
himself  out  ?  The  opera  which  they  were  rehearsij  ig  was 
one  of  the  most  common  operas  for  those  who  are  used  to 
them,  but  one  of  the  greatest  insipidities  that  one  can 
imagine :  The  King  of  India  wants  to  get  married ;  they 
bring  a  bride  to  him,  and  be  dresses  himself  up  as  a  singer, 
the  bride  falls  in  love  with  the  presumptive  singer  and  is 
in  despair,  and  then  discovers  that  the  singer  is  the  king 
himself,  and  all  are  very  much  satisfied. 

There  cannot  be  the  slightest  doubt  that  there  never 
have  been,  and  never  could  have  been,  such  Indians,  and 
that  what  they  represented  not  only  did  not  resemble  any 
Indians,  but  did  not  even  resemble  anything  in  the  world, 
except  other  operas ;  that  nobody  expresses  his  feehngs 
in  a  recitative  and  in  quartettes,  standing  at  a  certain 
distance  and  waving  his  hand ;  that  no  one  walks  with 
tin-foil  halberds,  in  slippers,  in  pairs,  except  in  the  theatre  ; 
that  nobody  gets  angry  like  that,  or  makes  love,  or  smiles, 
or  weeps  like  that,  and  that  no  one  in  the  world  can  be 
touched  by  all  these  performances. 

Involuntarily  there  arises  the  question :  For  whom  is 


WHAT   IS   ART?  141 

all  this  being  done  ?  Whom  can  it  please  ?  If  now  and 
then  there  is  a  good  motive  in  the  opera,  which  it  would 
give  pleasure  to  hear,  it  would  be  possiljle  to  sing  the  opera 
simply,  without  these  stupid  costumes,  and  processions, 
and  recitatives,  and  wavings  of  the  hand.  But  the  ballet, 
in  which  half-naked  women  make  lascivious  evolutions 
and  intertwine  in  all  kinds  of  sensual  garlands,  is  simply 
an  immoral  performance.  And  so  it  is  hard  to  make  out 
for  whom  all  this  is  intended.  To  an  educated  man  it  is 
intolerable  and  annoying  ;  to  a  real  working  man  it  is  com- 
pletely incomprehensible.  It  can  please  only  those,  and 
doubtfully  even  them,  who  have  fiUed  themselves  with 
the  spirit  of  gentlemen,  but  who  are  not  yet  satiated 
with  gentlemanly  pleasures,  —  corrupt  artisans,  who  wish 
to  testify  to  their  culture,  and  young  lackeys. 

And  all  this  abominable  stupidity  is  not  only  not 
prepared  with  good-natured  merriment  and  with  simplicity, 
but  with  fury  and  beastly  cruelty. 

They  say  that  this  is  done  for  art,  and  that  art  is  a 
very  important  matter.  But  is  it  true  that  this  is  art, 
and  that  art  is  such  an  important  matter,  that  such  sacri- 
fices may  be  brought  to  it  ?  This  question  is  especially 
important,  because  the  art,  for  the  sake  of  which  the 
labours  of  milhons  of  men  and  even  the  lives  of  men  and, 
above  all  else,  love  among  men  are  sacrificed,  becomes  in 
the  consciousness  of  men  something  more  and  more 
obscure  and  indefinite. 

Criticism,  in  which  heretofore  the  lovers  of  art  found  a 
support  for  their  judgments  about  art,  has  of  late  become 
so  contradictory  that,  if  we  omit  from  the  sphere  of  art 
everything  which  the  critics  of  the  various  schools  do  not 
recognize  as  possessing  the  right  of  belonging  to  art,  there 
will  be  hardly  anything  left  in  art. 

Like  the  theologians  of  the  various  sects,  so  the  artists 
of  the  various  denominations  exclude  and  destroy  one  an- 
other.   Listen  to  the  artists  of  the  modern  schools,  and  you 


142  WHAT    IS    AKT? 

will  see  in  all  branches  one  set  of  artists  denying  the  rest : 
in  poetry,  —  the  old  romanticists,  denying  the  Parnassians 
and  the  decadents ;  the  Parnassians,  denying  the  roman- 
ticists and  the  decadents  ;  the  decadents,  denying  all  their 
predecessors  and  the  symhoHsts  ;  the  symbolists,  denying 
all  their  predecessors  and  the  Magi ;  and  the  Magi,  deny- 
ing all  their  predecessors  ;  in  the  novel,  —  the  naturalists, 
psychologists,  naturists,  denying  one  another.  The  same 
is  true  of  painting  and  of  music.  Thus  art,  which  absorbs 
the  enormous  labours  of  the  nation  and  of  human  lives, 
and  which  impairs  the  love  among  them,  is  not  only 
nothing  clearly  and  firmly  defined,  but  is  also  understood 
so  contradictorily  by  its  lovers  that  it  is  hard  to  say  what 
indeed  is  meant  by  art,  and  especially  by  good,  useful  art, 
such  tliat  in  the  name  of  it  there  may  be  brought  those 
sacrifices  which  are  made  for  it. 


n. 

For  every  ballet,  circus,  opera,  operetta,  exhibition, 
painting,  concert,  printing  of  a  book,  we  need  the  strained 
labour  of  thousands  and  thousands  of  men,  who  under 
pressure  perform  what  frequently  is  destructive  and 
debasing  work. 

It  would  be  well  if  the  artists  did  all  their  work  them- 
selves, but  as  it  is,  they  need  the  aid  of  workmen,  not 
only  for  the  production  of  the  art,  but  also  for  their  for 
the  most  part  luxurious  existence,  and  in  one  way  or 
another  they  receive  it  either  in  the  form  of  pay  from 
rich  people,  or  in  the  form  of  subsidies  from  the  govern- 
ment, which  are  given  them  by  the  million  for  theatres, 
conservatories,  academies.  This  money  is  collected  from 
the  masses,  whose  cows  are  sold  for  this  purpose  and  who 
never  enjoy  these  lesthetic  pleasures  which  art  gives 
them. 

It  was  well  for  the  Greek  or  the  Eoman  artist,  or  even 
for  our  artist  of  the  first  half  of  our  century,  when  there 
were  slaves  and  it  was  considered  right  that  there  should 
be,  with  a  calm  conscience  to  make  men  serve  him  and 
his  pleasure ;  but  in  our  time,  when  in  all  men  there  is 
at  least  a  faint  consciousness  of  the  equality  of  all  men, 
it  is  impossible  to  make  people  work  for  art  against  their 
will,  without  having  first  decided  the  question  whether  it 
is  true  that  art  is  such  a  good  and  important  thing  that 
it  redeems  this  violence. 

Otherwise  it  is  terrible  to  consider  that  it  may  very 
easily  happen  that  terrible  sacrifices  in  labour,  in  human 

143 


144  WHAT    IS    AKT? 

life,  in  morality,  are  made  for  art's  sake,  while  art  not 
only  fails  to  be  useful,  but  is  even  harmful. 

And  so  for  a  society,  amidst  which  the  productions  of 
art  arise  and  are  supported,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
whether  all  is  really  art  which  is  given  out  as  such,  and 
whether  all  that  which  is  art  is  good,  as  it  is  considered 
to  be  in  our  society,  and  whether,  if  it  is  good,  it  is  impor- 
tant and  deserves  all  those  sacrifices  which  are  demanded 
in  its  name.  And  still  more  indispensable  is  it  for  every 
artist  to  know  this,  in  order  that  he  may  be  assured  that 
everything  which  he  does  has  a  meaning,  and  is  not  an 
infatuation  of  that  small  circle  of  men  among  whom  he 
is  living,  evoking  in  him  a  false  conviction  that  he  is 
doing  something  good  and  that  what  he  is  taking  from 
other  people  in  the  form  of  support  for  his  for  the  most 
part  luxurious  life  will  be  paid  by  those  productions  over 
which  he  is  working.  And  so  the  answers  to  these  ques- 
tions are  of  particular  importance  in  our  time. 

What,  then,  is  this  art  which  is  considered  so  important 
and  so  indispensable  for  humanity  that  for  it  may  be 
made  those  sacrifices,  not  only  of  labour  and  of  human 
lives,  but  also  of  the  good,  which  are  made  for  it  ? 

What  is  art?  How  is  this,  —  what  is  art?  Art  is 
architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  music,  poetry  in  all  its 
forms,  will  be  the  answer  of  the  average  man,  of  the 
lover  of  art,  or  even  of  the  artist  himself,  assuming  that 
what  he  is  talking  about  is  clearly  and  universally  under- 
stood by  all  men.  But  in  architecture,  you  will  say,  there 
are  simple  structures,  which  do  not  form  the  object  of 
art,  and,  besides,  structures  which  make  a  pretence  of  being 
objects  of  art,  unsuccessful,  monstrous  structures,  which, 
therefore,  cannot  be  acknowledged  to  be  objects  of  art. 
Where,  then,  is  the  sign  of  the  object  of  art  to  be 
found  ? 

The  same  is  true  of  sculpture,  and  of  music,  and  of 
poetry.     Art  in  all  its  forms  borders,  on  the  one  hand, 


WHAT   IS   ART?  145 

on  what  is  practically  useful ;  on  the  other,  on  attempts 
at  art  which  are  failures.  It  seems  to  him  that  all  this 
has  been  decided  long  ago  and  is  well  known  to  all. 

"Art  is  an  activity  which  manifests  beauty,"  such  an 
average  man  will  say. 

"  But  if  art  consists  in  this,  is  a  ballet,  an  operetta, 
also  art  ? "  you  will  ask. 

"Yes,"  the  average  man  will  answer,  but  with  some 
hesitation.  "A  good  ballet  and  a  graceful  operetta  are 
also  art,  in  so  far  as  they  manifest  beauty." 

But  if,  without  asking  the  average  man  any  further 
as  to  how  a  good  ballet  and  a  graceful  operetta  differ  from 
ungraceful  ones,  —  questions  which  he  would  find  it  hard 
to  answer,  —  if  you  ask  the  same  average  man  whether 
the  activity  of  the  costumer  and  the  wig-maker  who 
adorn  the  figures  and  the  faces  of  the  women  in  the 
ballet  and  the  operetta,  and  of  the  tailor  Worth,  the  per- 
fumer, and  the  cook  may  be  considered  to  be  art,  he 
in  the  majority  of  cases  will  reject  the  activity  of  the 
tailor,  the  wig-maker,  the  costumer,  and  the  cook,  as  not 
belonging  to  the  sphere  of  art.  But  in  this  the  average 
man  will  be  mistaken,  for  the  very  reason  that  he  is  an 
average  man,  and  not  a  specialist,  and  has  not  busied 
himself  with  questions  of  aesthetics.  If  he  busied  himself 
with  them,  he  would  find  in  the  famous  Eenan,  in  his 
book.  Marc  Aurele,  a  discussion  as  to  the  tailor's  art 
being  art,  and  a  statement  that  those  men  who  in  the 
attire  of  woman  do  not  see  the  work  of  the  highest  art 
are  very  narrow  and  very  stupid.  "  C'est  le  grand  art," 
he  says.  Besides,  the  average  man  would  find  out  that 
in  many  esthetics,  as,  for  example,  in  the  aesthetics  of  the 
learned  Professor  Kralik,  Wcltschonlieit,  Versuch  einer 
allegemeinen  JEsthetik,  and  in  Guyau,  Les  proUemes  de 
Vcsthetiquc,  the  costumer's  art  and  the  arts  of  taste  and 
of  feeling  are  recognized  as  being  art. 

"  Es  folgt  nun   ein   Fiinfblatt  von   Kiinsten,  die  der 


146  WHAT    IS    ART? 

subjectiveii  Sinnlichkeit  entkeimen,"  says  Kralik  (p.  175). 
"  Sie  sind  die  astethische  Behaudlung  der  flinf  Sinne." 

These  five  arts  are  the  following : 

Die  Ivimst  des  Geschmacksinns,  —  the  art  of  the  sense 
of  taste  (p.  175). 

Die  Kunst  des  Geruchsinns,  —  the  art  of  the  sense  of 
smell  (p.  177). 

Die  Kunst  des  Tastsinns,  —  the  art  of  the  sense  of 
feeling  (p.  180). 

Die  Kunst  des  Gehorsinns,  —  the  art  of  the  sense  of 
hearing  (p.  182), 

Die  Kunst  des  Gesichtsinns,  —  the  art  of  the  sense  of 
sight  (p.  184). 

Of  the  first,  the  Kuust  des  Geschmacksinns,  the  follow- 
ing is  said :  "  Man  halt  zwar  gewohnlich  nur  zwei  oder 
hochstens  drei  Sinne  flir  wiirdig,  den  Stoff  kunstlicher 
Behandlung  abzugeben,  aber  ich  glaube,  nur  mit  beding- 
tera  Eecht.  Ich  will  kein  all  zu  grosses  Gewicht  darauf 
legen,  dass  der  gemeine  Sprachgebrauch  manch  andere 
Kiinste,  wie  zum  Beispiel  die  Kochkunst,  kenut. 

"  Und  es  ist  doch  gewiss  eine  asthetische  Leistung, 
wenn  es  der  Kochkunst  gelingt  aus  einem  thierischen 
Kadaver  einen  Gegenstand  des  Geschmacks  in  jedem 
Sinne  zu  machen.  Der  Grundsatz  der  Kunst  des  Ge- 
schmacksinns (die  weiter  ist  als  die  sogenannte  Kochkunst) 
ist  also  dieser.  Es  soil  alles  Geniessbare  als  Sinnbild 
einer  Idee  behandelt  werden  und  in  jedesmaligem  Ein- 
klang  zur  auszudriickenden  Idee." 

The  author  recognizes,  like  Eenan,  eine  Kostlimkunst 
(p.  200),  and  other  arts. 

The  same  is  the  opinion  of  the  French  writer,  Guyau, 
who  is  highly  esteemed  by  some  writers  of  our  day.  In 
his  book,  Les  proUemes  de  Vesthctique,  he  speaks  seriously 
of  the  sensations  of  feeling,  taste,  and  smell  as  being  able 
to  give  aesthetic  impressions. 

"  Si  la  couleur  manque  au  toucher,  il  nous  fournit  en 


WHAT    IS    ART?  147 

revanche  une  notion,  que  I'ceil  seul  ne  pent  nous  donner 
et  qui  a  une  valeur  estli^tique  considerable :  celle  du 
doux,  du  soyeux,  du  poli.  Ce  qui  caracterise  la  beauts 
du  velours,  c'est  le  douceur  au  toucher,  non  moins  que 
son  brillant.  Dans  I'id^e,  que  nous  nous  faisons  de  la 
beauts  d'une  femme,  la  velout^  de  sa  peau  entre  comme 
^l^ment  essentiel. 

"  Chacuu  de  nous  probablement  avec  un  peu  d'attention 
se  rappellera  des  jouissances  du  gout,  qui  out  ^t^  des 
v^ritables  jouissances  esth^tiques." 

And  he  goes  on  to  tell  how  a  glass  of  milk  drunk  by 
him  in  the  mountains  gave  him  an  aesthetic  pleasure. 

Thus  the  conception  of  art  as  a  manifestation  of  beauty 
is  not  at  all  so  simple  as  it  seems,  especially  now,  when 
in  this  conception  of  beauty  they  include,  as  the  modern 
aestheticians  do,  our  sensations  of  feeling,  taste,  and 
smell. 

But  the  average  man  either  does  not  know  this,  or 
does  not  wish  to  know  it,  and  is  firmly  convinced  that 
all  questions  of  art  are  very  simply  and  very  clearly 
solved  by  recognizing  beauty  as  the  contents  of  art. 
To  the  average  man  it  seems  clear  and  comprehensible 
that  art  is  the  product  of  beauty ;  and  by  beauty  are  all 
the  questions  of  art  solved  for  Mm. 

But  what  is  beauty,  which,  according  to  his  opinion, 
forms  the  contents  of  art  ?  How  is  it  determined,  and 
what  is  it? 

As  in  every  other  matter,  the  more  obscure  and  compli- 
cated the  conception  is  which  is  transmitted  in  words, 
the  greater  is  the  aplomb  and  self-assurance  with  which 
people  use  this  word,  making  it  appear  that  what  is 
understood  by  the  word  is  so  simple  and  so  clear  that 
it  is  not  worth  while  to  talk  of  what  it  really  means. 
Thus  people  generally  act  in  reference  to  questions  of 
religious  superstition,  and  so  people  act  in  our  time  in 
reference  to  the  concept  of  beauty.     It  is  assumed  that 


148  WHAT   IS    ART? 

what  is  understood  by  the  word  "  beauty  "  is  known  and 
comprehensible  to  all.  At  the  same  time  this  is  not  only 
unknown,  but  ever  since,  in  the  last  150  years,  from  the 
year  1750,  when  Baumgarten  laid  the  foundation  for 
aesthetics,  there  have  been  written  mountains  of  books 
by  most  learned  and  profound  men,  the  question  as  to 
what  beauty  is  has  remained  completely  open  and  with 
every  new  work  on  aesthetics  is  solved  in  a  new  way. 
One  of  the  last  books  which,  among  others,  I  read 
on  aesthetics,  is  a  not  at  all  bad  little  book  by  Julius 
Mithalter,  called  Miitsel  des  Schonen.  The  title  quite  cor- 
rectly explains  the  position  of  the  question  as  to  what 
beauty  is.  The  meaning  of  the  word  "  beauty  "  has  re- 
mained an  enigma  after  150  years  of  discussion  by  a 
thousand  learned  men  as  to  the  meaning  of  this  word. 
The  Germaus  solve  the  enigma  in  their  own  way,  though 
in  a  hundred  different  manners.  The  physiological  aisthe- 
ticiaus,  especially  the  Englishmen  of  the  Spencer-Grant 
Allen  school,  also  decide  it  each  in  his  own  way ;  the 
French  eclectics  and  the  followers  of  Guyau  and  Taine 
also  decide  it  in  their  own  way,  and  all  these  men  know 
all  the  previous  solutions  by  Baumgarten,  and  Kant,  and 
Schelling,  and  Schiller,  and  Fichte,  and  Winkelmann,  and 
Lessing,  and  Hegel,  and  Schopenhauer,  and  Hartmann, 
and  Schasler,  and  Cousin,  and  L^veque,  and  so  forth. 

What  is  this  strange  conception  of  beauty,  which 
seems  so  comprehensible  to  those  who  do  not  think  what 
they  are  saying,  and  on  the  definition  of  which  all  the 
philosophers  of  the  various  nations  having  all  kinds  of 
tendencies  have  been  unable  to  agree  for  the  past  150 
years  ?  What  is  the  concept  of  beauty  on  which  the  pre- 
vailing doctrine  about  art  is  based  ? 

By  the  word  "  beauty  "  we  understand  in  the  Eussian 
language  only  that  which  pleases  our  vision.  Although 
of  late  we  have  begun  to  speak  of  "  ugly  acts,"  "  beautiful 
music/'  this  is  not  Russian. 


WDAT    IS    ART  ?  119 

A  Eussian  from  among  the  masses,  who  does  not  know- 
any  foreign  languages,  will  not  understand  you,  if  you 
tell  him  that  a  man  who  gave  another  his  last  garment, 
or  something  like  that,  acted  "  beautifully,"  or,  having 
cheated  another,  acted  "  ugly,"  or  that  a  song  is  "  beauti- 
ful." In  Paissian  an  act  may  be  good,  or  bad ;  music  may 
be  agreeable  and  good,  or  disagreeable  and  bad,  but  it  can- 
not be  beautiful  or  ugly. 

Beautiful  can  be  a  man,  a  horse,  a  house,  a  view,  a 
motion,  but  of  acts,  thoughts,  character,  music,  if  we  like 
them  very  much,  we  can  say  that  they  are  good,  or  bad, 
if  we  do  not  like  them ;  "  beautiful "  we  can  say  only  of 
what  pleases  our  sense  of  vision.  Thus  the  word  and  the 
concept  of  "  good  "  includes  the  concept  of  "  beautiful," 
but  not  vice  versa:  the  concept  of  "beautiful"  does  not 
include  that  of  "  good."  If  we  say  "  good  "  of  an  object 
which  is  valued  for  its  external  appearance,  we  say  by 
this  that  it  is  also  beautiful ;  but  if  we  say  "  beautiful," 
it  does  not  at  all  designate  that  the  object  is  good. 

Such  is  the  meaning  ascribed  by  the  Eussian  language, 
consequently  by  the  Eussian  national  mind,  to  tlie  words 
and  the  concepts  of  "  good  "  and  "  beautiful." 

In  all  European  languages,  in  the  languages  of  those 
nations  among  which  the  teacliing  of  the  beautiful  is  dis- 
seminated, as  being  the  essence  of  art,  the  words  "  beau," 
"  schon,"  "  beautiful,"  "  bello,"  having  retained  the  mean- 
ing of  beauty  of  form,  have  also  come  to  signify 
goodness,  that  is,  have  come  to  take  the  place  of 
"  good." 

Thus,  it  is  quite  natural  in  these  languages  to  employ 
expressions  like  "  belle  ame,  schdne  Gedanken,  beautiful 
deed ; "  but  for  the  definition  of  the  beauty  of  form,  these 
languages  have  no  corresponding  word,  and  are  obliged  to 
use  the  combination  of  words, "  beau  par  la  forme,"  and  so 
forth. 

Observation  made  on  the  meaning  which  the  words 


150  WHAT   IS   ART? 

"  beauty,"  "  beautiful,"  have,  both  in  our  language  and  in 
all  the  ancient  languages,  not  excluding  the  European 
languages,  particularly  those  of  the  nations  among  whom 
the  sesthetical  theory  has  been  established,  shows  us  that 
a  special  meaning,  that  of  goodness,  is  ascribed  to  the 
word  "  beauty." 

What  is  remarkable  in  this  is  the  fact  that  since  we, 
the  Russians,  have  come  more  and  more  fully  to  adopt 
the  European  views  of  art,  the  same  evolution  has  been 
taking  place  in  our  language,  and,  with  the  greatest  assur- 
ance and  without  surprising  any  one,  people  have  begun 
to  speak  and  to  write  of  beautiful  music  and  ugly  acts 
and  even  thoughts,  whereas  forty  years  ago,  in  my  youth, 
such  expressions  as  "  beautiful  music  "  and  "  ugly  acts  " 
were  not  only  unused,  but  even  incomprehensible.  It  is 
evident  that  this  new  meaning,  wliich  by  European 
thought  is  attached  to  beauty,  is  being  adopted  also  by 
Russian  society. 

In  what,  then,  does  this  meaning  consist?  What  is 
beauty,  as  understood  by  the  European  nations  ? 

In  order  to  answer  this  question,  I  shall  quote  here 
a  small  part  of  those  definitions  of  beauty  which  are  most 
current  in  the  existing  works  on  aesthetics.  I  beg  the 
reader  most  earnestly  not  to  feel  wearied,  but  to  read 
these  quotations  or,  what  would  be  better  still,  to  read  any 
scientific  esthetics  he  may  please.  Leaving  out  the  exten- 
sive works  on  ffisthetics  by  the  Germans,  it  would  be  very 
well  for  this  purpose  to  read  the  German  work  by 
Krahk,  the  English  by  Knight,  and  the  French  by  L^- 
veque.  It  is  indispensable  to  read  some  learned  work 
on  aesthetics,  in  order  that  one  may  form  for  oueseK  a  con- 
ception of  the  variety  of  opinions  and  of  the  frightful 
obscurity  which  reign  in  this  sphere  of  opinions,  and  not 
take  another  person's  word  for  it. 

This,  for  example,  is  what  Schasler,  the  German  sesthe- 
tician,  says  about   the  character  of   all  esthetic  inves- 


WHAT   IS    ART  ?  151 

tigations,  in  his  famous,  compendious,  and  minute  work 
on  ivsthetics : 

"  In  hardly  any  other  sphere  of  the  philosophic  sciences 
can  we  find  such  contradictory  aud  rude  investigations 
and  manners  of  exposition  as  in  the  sphere  of  aesthetics. 
On  the  one  hand,  there  is  an  elegant  phraseology,  without 
any  contents,  distinguished  for  the  most  part  by  a  most 
one-sided  superficiality ;  on  the  other,  with  an  unquestion- 
able profundity  of  investigation  aud  wealth  of  contents, 
a  repellent  clumsiness  of  a  philosophic  terminology,  which 
vests  the  simplest  things  in  the  garment  of  abstract  learn- 
ing, as  though  to  make  them  worthy  of  entering  into  the 
illuminated  halls  of  the  system,  and,  finally,  between  these 
two  methods  of  investigation  and  exposition,  a  third, 
forming,  as  it  were,  a  transition  from  one  to  the  other, 
a  metliod  which  consists  in  eclecticism,  which  foppishly 
displays  now  an  elegant  phraseology,  and  now  a  pedantic 
learning.  .  .  .  But  a  form  of  exposition  which  may  not  fall 
into  any  one  of  the  three  faults,  but  may  be  truly  concrete 
and  with  its  essential  contents  may  express  its  meaning  in 
a  clear  and  popular  philosophic  language,  is  nowhere  to  be 
met  with  less  frequently  than  in  the  sphere  of  aesthetics."  ^ 

It  is  sufficient  to  read  Schasler's  own  book,  in  order  to 
become  convinced  of  the  justice  of  his  opinion. 

"  II  n'y  a  pas  de  science,"  says  of  the  saine  subject 
Veron,  a  French  writer,  in  the  introduction  to  his  very 
good  work  on  aesthetics,  "  qui  ait  €t^  de  plus,  que  I'esth^-. 
tique,  Hvr^e  aux  reveries  des  metaphysiciens.  Depuis 
Platon  jusqu'aux  doctrines  officielles  de  nos  jours,  on  a 
fait  de  I'art  je  ne  sais  quel  amalgame  de  fantaisies  quintes- 
sencit^es  et  de  myst^res  transcendentaux,  qui  trouvent 
leur  expression  supreme  dans  le  conception  absolue  du 
beau  ideal  prototype  immuable  et  divin  des  choses  r^elles."  ^ 

1  Schasler,  Kritische  Geschichte  der  ^sthetik,  1872,  i.  p.  xiii.     All 
notes  in  What  Is  Art?  are  the  author's. 
2V6ron,  L'estMtique,  1878,  p.  v. 


152  WHAT    IS    AST  ? 

This  opinion  is  the  more  correct,  as  the  reader  will 
convince  himself,  if  he  takes  the  trouble  to  read  the 
following  definitions  of  beauty,  which  I  quote  from  the 
chief  authors  on  aesthetics. 

I  will  uot  quote  the  definitions  of  beauty  which  are 
ascribed  to  the  ancients,  to  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle, 
down  to  Plotinus,  because,  in  reality,  there  did  not  exist 
with  the  ancients  that  definition  of  beauty,  distinct  from 
goodness,  w^iich  forms  the  foundation  and  aim  of  aesthetics 
in  our  day.  In  adapting  the  opinions  of  the  ancients 
about  beauty  to  our  concept,  as  they  generally  do  in 
works  on  esthetics,  we  attribute  to  the  words  of  the 
ancients  a  meaning  which  they  did  not  have  (see  concern- 
ing this  the  beautiful  book  of  B^nard,  Lesthetiquc  d'Aris- 
tote,  and  Walter's  Geschichte  der  ^sthetik  im  Alterthum). 


III. 

I  "WILL  begin  with  the  founder  of  aesthetics,  Baumgarten 
(1714-62). 

According  to  Baumgarten/  the  subject  of  logical  cogni- 
tion is  truth  ;  the  subject  of  aesthetic  (that  is,  sensuous) 
cognition  is  heauty.  Beauty  is  the  perfect  (absolute), 
which  is  cognized  by  feeling.  Truth  is  the  perfect,  which 
is  cognized  by  reason.  Goodness  is  the  perfect,  which  is 
attained  through  moral  will. 

Beauty  is,  according  to  Baumgarten,  defined  by  the 
correspondence,  that  is,  order  of  parts  in  their  mutual 
relation  among  themselves  and  in  their  relation  to  the 
whole.  The  aim  of  beauty  itself  is  to  please  and  excite 
desire  (Wohlgefallen  und  Erregung  eines  A^erlangens),  — 
a  proposition  which,  according  to  Kant,  is  directly  opposed 
to  the  chief  quality  and  sign  of  beauty. 

In  respect  to  the  manifestation  of  beauty,  Baumgarten 
assumes  that  the  highest  realization  of  beauty  we  recognize 
in  Nature,  and  so  the  imitation  of  Nature,  according  to 
Baumgarten,  is  the  highest  problem  of  art  (a  proposition 
which  is  directly  opposed  to  the  opinions  of  the  later 
aestheticians). 

Omitting  the  less  remarkable  followers  of  Baumgarten, 

Meyer,  Eschenburg,  Eberhard,  who  modify  their  teacher's 

opinions  but  a  little,  by  separating  what  is  agreeable  from 

what  is  beautiful,  I  quote  the  definitions  of  beauty  in  the 

authors  who  appeared  immediately  after  Baumgarten,  and 

who  defined  beauty  quite  differently.     These  writers  were 

Schutz,  Sulzer,  Mendelssohn,  Moritz.     These  writers  rec- 

iSchasler,  76.  p.  361. 
153 


154  WHAT    IS    ART? 

ognize,  in  contradistinctiou  to  Baumgarten's  proposition, 
that  the  aim  of  art  is  not  beauty,  but  goodness.  Thus 
Sulzer  (1720-79)  says  that  only  that  which  contains 
the  good  in  itself  may  be  recognized  as  beautiful.  Ac- 
cording to  Sulzer,  the  aim  of  the  whole  life  of  humanity  is 
the  good  of  the  social  life.  It  is  obtained  through  the 
education  of  the  moral  sentiment,  and  art  must  be  sub- 
jected to  this  aim.  Beauty  is  that  which  evokes  and 
educates  this  feeling. 

Almost  in  the  same  way  does  Mendelssohn  (1729- 
36)  understand  beauty.  Art,  according  to  Mendelssohn,^ 
is  the  elevation  of  what  is  beautiful,  as  cognized  by  a  dim 
feeling,  to  what  is  true  and  good.  But  the  aim  of  art  is 
moral  perfection. 

For  the  sestheticians  of  this  school  the  ideal  of  beauty  is 
a  beautiful  soul  in  a  beautiful  body.  Thus  in  these 
sestheticians  is  completely  wiped  out  the  division  of  the 
perfect  (the  absolute)  into  its  three  forms,  —  truth,  good- 
ness, and  beauty,  and  beauty  is  again  united  with  goodness 
and  truth. 

But  such  a  conception  of  beauty  is  not  supported  by 
the  later  sestheticians ;  there  appears  Winkelmann's  ses- 
thetics,  which  is  again  totally  opposed  to  these  views, 
which  in  a  most  decisive  and  sharp  manner  separates  the 
problems  of  art  from  the  aims  of  goodness,  and  which  sets 
up  as  the  aim  of  art  external  and  even  nothing  but  plastic 
art.     To  these  opinions  also  hold  Lessing  and  later  Gothe. 

According  to  Wmkelmann's  (1717-67)  work,  the 
law  and  aim  of  every  art  is  nothing  but  iDcauty,  quite 
distinct  and  independent  of  goodness.  Now,  beauty  is 
of  three  kinds :  (1)  the  beauty  of  forms,  (2)  the  beauty  of 
the  idea,  which  finds  its  expression  in  the  position  of  the 
figure  (in  relation  to  plastic  art),  and  (3)  the  beauty  of  ex- 
pression, which  is  possible  only  in  the  presence  of  the  first 
two  conditions ;  this  beauty  of  expression  is  the  highest 

1  lb.  p.  369. 


WUAT    IS    ART  ?  155 

aim  of  art,  and  is  realized  in  antique  art,  for  which  reavSon 
modern  art  must  strive  to  imitate  antiquity.^ 

Beauty  is  similarly  understood  by  Lessiug,  Herder,  then 
Gothe,  and  all  the  prominent  a-stheticians  of  Germany  up 
to  Kant,  with  which  time  there  begins  an  entirely  differ- 
ent comprehension  of  art." 

•In  England,  France,  Italy,  Holland,  there  originated  at 
the  same  time,  independently  of  the  writers  of  Germany, 
ffisthetical  theories  of  their  own,  which  are  just  as  obscure 
and  as  contradictory,  but  all  the  a^stheticians,  just  like  the 
Germans,  who  put  at  the  base  of  their  reflections  the  con- 
cept of  beauty,  understand  beauty  not  as  something  not 
absolutely  in  existence,  but  more  or  less  blending  with 
goodness  or  having  one  and  the  same  root  with  it.  In 
England,  almost  at  the  same  time  with  Baumgarteu,  and 
even  a  little  earlier,  Shaftesbury,  Hutcheson,  Home,  Burke, 
Hogarth,  and  others  write  about  art. 

According  to  Shaftesbury  (1670-1713)  what  is  beauti- 
ful is  harmonious  and  proportionable  ;  what  is  beautiful 
and  proportionable,  is  true  ;  and  what  is  at  once  both 
beautiful  and  true,  is  agreeable  and  good.  Beauty,  accord- 
ing to  Shaftesbury,  is  cognized  by  the  spirit  only.  God  is 
the  fundamental  beauty,  —  beauty  and  goodness  proceed 
from  one  source.^  Thus,  according  to  Shaftesbury,  though 
beauty  is  viewed  as  something  distinct  from  goodness,  it 
again  blends  with  it  into  something  indivisible. 

According  to  Hutcheson  (1694-1744),  in  his  Original 
of  our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and  Virttte,  the  aim  of  art  is 
beauty,  the  essence  of  which  consists  in  the  manifestation 
of  unity  in  nniltiplicity.  But  in  the  cognition  of  what  is 
beauty  we  are  guided  by  the  ethical  instinct  ("  an  internal 
sense").  Now  this  instinct  may  be  opposed  to  the  xs- 
thetical.     Thus,  according  to  Hutcheson,  beauty  no  longer 


1  lb.  pp.  388-390. 

2  Knight,  The  Philosophy  of  the  iBeautiful,  i.  pp.  165-166. 


156  WHAT   IS    ART? 

always  coincides  with  goodness,  and  is  separated  from  it 
and  may  be  contrary  to  it.^ 

According  to  Home  (1696-1782),  beauty  is  that  which 
is  agreeable,  and  so  beauty  is  determined  only  by  taste. 
Now,  the  foundation  of  true  taste  rests  on  this  fact,  that 
the  greatest  wealth,  fulness,  strength,  and  variety  of  im- 
pressions are  contained  within  most  circumscribed  limits. 
In  this  hes  the  ideal  of  the  perfect  production  of  art. 

According  to  Burke  (1730-97),  Eiiquiry  into  the 
Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  the  Suhlime  and  the  Beautiful,  the 
sublime  and  the  beautiful,  which  form  the  aim  of  art, 
have  for  their  foundation  the  feeling  of  self-preservation 
and  the  social  feeling.  These  feelings,  as  viewed  in  their 
sources,  are  means  for  the  preservation  of  the  species 
through  the  individual.  The  first  is  attained  through  nu- 
trition, defence,  and  war ;  the  second,  through  communion 
and  propagation.  And  so  self-preservation  and  war, 
which  is  connected  with  it,  are  the  source  of  the  sublime ; 
the  communal  feeling  and  the  sexual  necessity,  which  is 
united  with  it,  serve  as  the  source  of  beauty.^ 

Such  are  the  chief  English  definitions  of  art  and  beauty 
for  the  eighteenth  century. 

At  the  same  time  Pfere  Andr^,  Batteux,  Diderot,  dAlem- 
bert,  and  Voltaire,  in  part,  were  writing  in  France  on 
art. 

According  to  Pfere  Andr^  {Essai  sur  le  Beau)  (1741), 
there  are  three  kinds  of  beauty:  (1)  divine  beauty,  (2) 
natural  beauty,  and  (3)  artificial  beauty .^ 

According  to  Batteux  (1713-80),  art  consists  in  the 
imitation  of  the  beauty  of  Nature,  and  its  aim  is  enjoy- 
ment.* 

iSchasler,  p.  289;  Knight,  pp.  168-169. 

^Kralik,  Weltschonheit,  Versuch  einer  allgemeinen  ^sthetik,  pp. 
304-806  ;  p.  124. 

3  Knight,  p.  101. 

4  8chasler,  p.  316. 


WHAT   IS   ART?  167 

Diderot's  definition  of  art  is  similar  to  it.  Taste  is, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  English,  assumed  as  the  arbiter  of 
what  is  beautiful.  But  the  laws  of  taste  are  not  only 
not  established,  but  it  is  admitted  that  all  this  is  im- 
possible. D'Alembert  and  Voltaire^  are  of  the  same 
opinion. 

According  to  the  Italian  sesthetician  of  the  same  time, 
Pagano,  art  is  the  briugiiig  together  into  one  of  the  beau- 
ties scattered  in  Nature.  The  ability  to  see  these  beauties 
is  taste ;  the  ability  to  unite  them  into  one  whole  is 
the  artistic  genius.  Beauty,  according  to  Pagano,  is  so 
blended  with  goodness  that  beauty  is  manifesting  good- 
ness, and  good  is  inner  beauty. 

According  to  the  opinion  of  other  Italians,  Muratori 
(1672—1750),  {Rifiessioni  sopro  il  huon  gusto  intorno  le 
scienze  e  le  arti),  and  especially  Spaletti^  (Saggio  sopro 
la  hellezza,  1765),  art  is  reduced  to  an  egoistical  sensation 
which,  as  in  the  case  of  Burke,  is  based  on  the  striving 
after  self-preservation  and  the  communal  foeling. 

Among  the  Dutch  we  must  note  Hemsterhuis  (1720- 
90),  who  had  an  influence  on  the  German  sestheticians 
and  on  Gothe.  According  to  his  teaching,  beauty  is 
what  offers  the  greatest  enjoyment,  and  what  offers  us  the 
gi'eatest  enjoyment  is  what  gives  us  the  greatest  number 
of  ideas  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  The  enjoyment  of 
the  beautiful  is  the  highest  cognition  which  man  can 
attain,  because  in  the  shortest  time  possible  it  gives  the 
greatest  number  of  perceptions.^ 

Such  were  the  theories  of  the  aesthetics  outside  of  Ger- 
many in  the  course  of  the  past  century.  But  in  Germany 
there  appears  after  Winkelmann  again  an  entirely  new 
aesthetic  theory  by  Kant  (1724—1804),  which  more  than 
any  other  makes  clear  the  essence  of  the  concept  of 
beauty,  and  so  also  of  art. 

1  Kaight,  pp.  102-104.  2  Schapler,  p.  328. 

3  Schasler,  pp.  331,  333. 


158  WHAT   IS   ART? 

Kant's  sesthetics  is  based  on  this:  man,  according  to 
Kant,  cognizes  Nature  outside  himself,  and  himself  in 
Nature.  In  Nature  outside  himself  he  seeks  truth, 
in  himself  he  seeks  goodness,  —  one  is  the  work  of  pure 
reason,  the  other  —  of  practical  reason  (freedom).  In 
addition  to  these  two  instruments  of  cognition,  according 
to  Kant,  there  is  also  the  ability  to  judge  (Urtheilskraft), 
which  forms  judgments  without  concepts  and  produces 
pleasure  without  desire  (Urtheil  ohne  Begrift  und  Ver- 
gniigen  ohne  Begehren).  This  ability  forms  the  basis  of 
the  aesthetic  feeling.  But  beauty,  according  to  Kant, 
in  the  subjective  sense,  is  what  pleases,  without  concep- 
tion or  practical  advantage,  in  general,  of  necessity  ;  in 
the  objective  sense  it  is  the  form  of  the  suitable  object 
in  the  measure  in  which  it  is  conceived  without  any 
representation  of  its  aim.^ 

Beauty  is  similarly  defined  by  Kant's  followers,  among 
them  by  Schiller  (1759-1805).  According  to  Schiller, 
who  wrote  a  great  deal  on  aesthetics,  the  aim  of  art  is, 
as  with  Kant,  beauty,  the  source  of  which  is  enjoyment 
without  any  practical  advantage.  Thus  art  may  be 
called  a  game,  not  in  the  sense  of  an  insignificant  occupa- 
tion, but  in  the  sense  of  the  manifestation  of  the 
beauty  of  life  itself,  which  has  no  other  aim  than 
beauty.^ 

Next  to  Schiller,  the  most  remarkable  of  Kant's  fol- 
lowers in  the  field  of  sesthetics  was  Wilhelm  Humboldt, 
who  though  he  added  nothing  to  the  definition  of 
beauty,  expatiated  on  its  various  aspects,  as  the  drama, 
music,  humour,  etc.^ 

After  Kant,  it  is  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel,  and 
their  followers,  besides  less  important  authors,  who  have 
written  on  aesthetics.  According  to  Fichte  (1761-1814), 
the  consciousness  of  the  beautiful  results  from  the  fol- 

1 76.  pp.  525-528.  2  Knight,  pp.  61-63. 

8  Schasler,  pp.  740-743. 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  169 

lowing :  the  universe,  that  is,  Nature,  has  two  sides,  — 
it  is  the  product  of  our  limitation  and  of  our  free  ideal 
activity.  In  the  first  sense  the  universe  is  limited,  iu  the 
second  it  is  free.  In  the  first  sense  everybody  is  limited, 
distorted,  compressed,  narrowed,  and  we  see  ugliness ;  in 
the  second  we  see  inner  fulness,  vitality,  regeneration,  — 
beauty.  Thus  the  ugliness  or  the  beauty  of  an  object, 
according  to  Fichte,  depends  on  the  view-point  of  the 
observer.  Thus  beauty  is  not  contained  in  the  world,  but 
in  the  beautiful  soul  (schoner  Geist).  Art  is  the  mani- 
festation of  this  beautiful  soul,  and  its  aim  is  the  educa- 
tion, not  only  of  the  mind,  —  that  is  the  work  of  the 
scholar,  —  not  only  of  the  heart,  —  that  is  the  work  of 
the  moral  preacher,  —  but  also  of  the  whole  man.  And 
so  the  sign  of  beauty  is  found,  not  in  something  external, 
but  in  the  presence  of  the  beautiful  soul  iu  the  artist.^ 

With  Fichte,  Friedrich  Schlegel  and  Adam  Miiller 
define  beaut}^  in  the  same  way.  According  to  Schlegel 
(1778-1829),  beauty  in  art  is  understood  in  too  incom- 
plete, one-sided,  and  disjointed  a  manner  ;  beauty  is  found 
not  only  in  art,  but  also  in  Nature,  in  love,  so  that  the 
truly  beautiful  is  expressed  in  the  union  of  art.  Nature, 
and  love.  For  this  reason  Schlegel  recognizes,  inseparable 
from  aesthetic  art,  a  moral  and  a  philosophic  art.^ 

According  to  Adam  Miiller  (1779-1829),  there  are  two 
beauties :  one  —  social  art,  which  attracts  men,  as  the  sun 
attracts  the  planets,  —  this  is  preeminently  the  antique 
art,  —  and  the  other  —  individual  beauty,  which  becomes 
such  because  the  one  who  contemplates  himself  becomes 
the  sun  which  attracts  beauty,  —  this  is  the  beauty  of  the 
new  art.  The  world,  in  which  all  the  contradictions  are 
harmonized,  is  the  highest  beauty,  and  every  production 
of  art  is  a  repetition  of  this  universal  harmony.^  The 
highest  art  is  the  art  of  life.* 


*G' 


1 26.  pp.  709-771.  2  lb.  p.  87.  3  Kralik,  p.  148. 

*  lb.  p.  820. 


160  WHAT   IS   ART? 

The  next  philosopher  after  Fichte  and  his  followers, 
and  contemporaneous  with  him,  was  Schelling  (1775— 
1854),  who  had  a  great  influence  on  the  aesthetic  concepts 
of  our  time.  According  to  Schelling,  art  is  the  product  or 
consequence  of  that  world  conception  according  to  which 
the  subject  is  transformed  into  its  object,  or  the  object 
itself  becomes  its  subject.  Beauty  is  the  representation 
of  the  infinite  in  the  finite.  The  chief  character  of  the 
product  of  art  is  unconscious  infinitude.  Art  is  the  union 
of  the  subjective  with  the  objective,  —  of  Nature  and 
reason,  of  the  unconscious  with  the  conscious.  Thus  art 
is  the  highest  means  of  cognition.  Beauty  is  the  contem- 
plation of  things  in  themselves,  as  they  are  found  in  the 
basis  of  all  things  (in  den  Urbilderu).  The  beautiful  is 
not  produced  by  the  artist  through  his  knowledge  or  will, 
but  by  the  idea  of  beauty  itself  in  him.^ 

Of  Schelling's  followers  the  most  noticeable  was  Solger 
(1780-1819)  (Vorlesungcn  iibcr  JEsthetik).  According  to 
Solger,  the  idea  of  beauty  is  the  fundamental  idea  of  any- 
thing. In  the  world  we  see  only  the  distortion  of  the 
fundamental  idea,  —  but  art  through  fancy  may  rise  to 
the  height  of  the  fundamental  idea.  And  so  art  is  the 
similitude  of  creativeness.^ 

According  to  another  follower  of  Schelling,  Krause 
(1781-1832),  true  real  beauty  is  the  manifestation  of 
the  idea  in  the  individual  form ;  but  art  is  the  realiza- 
tion of  beauty  in  the  sphere  of  the  free  human  spirit. 
The  highest  degree  of  art  is  the  art  of  life,  which  directs 
its  activity  to  the  adornment  of  life,  so  that  it  may  be  a 
beautiful  place  of  abode  for  a  beautiful  man.^ 

After  Schelling  and  his  followers  begins  Hegel's  aesthetic 
doctrine,  wdiich,  consciously  in  many  and  unconsciously  in 
the  majority,  has  remained  new  until  the  present.  This 
doctrine  not  only  fails  to  be  clearer  and   more  definite 

xSchasler,  pp.  828-829,  834,  841.  ^Ib.  p.  891. 

8/{>.  p.  917. 


WUAT   IS   ART?  161 

than  the  former  doctrines,  but,  if  that  is  at  all  possible,  is 
even  more  hazy  and  mystical. 

According  to  Hegel  (1770-1831),  God  is  manifested  in 
Nature  and  in  art  in  the  form  of  beauty.  God  expresses 
himself  in  a  twofold  manner,  —  in  the  object  and  in  the 
subject,  —  in  Nature  and  in  the  spirit.  Beauty  is  the 
idea  made  transparent  through  matter.  Truly  beautiful 
is  only  the  spirit  and  all  that  which  partakes  of  the 
spirit :  the  beautiful  has  only  spiritual  contents.  But 
the  spiritual  has  to  be  manifested  in  a  sensuous  form ; 
and  the  sensuous  manifestation  of  the  spirit  is  only  sem- 
blance (Schein).  Tliis  semblance  is  the  only  reality  of 
the  beautiful.  Thus  art  is  the  realization  of  this  sem- 
blance of  the  idea,  and  is  a  means,  together  with  rehgion 
and  philosophy,  for  bringing  to  consciousness  and  express- 
ing the  profoundest  problems  of  men  and  the  highest 
truths  of  the  spirit. 

Truth  and  beauty  are,  according  to  Hegel,  one  and  the 
same :  the  only  difference  is  that  truth  is  the  idea  itself, 
in  so  far  as  it  exists  and  is  thinkable  in  itself.  But  the 
idea,  as  it  is  manifested  without,  becomes  for  conscious- 
ness, not  only  true,  but  also  beautiful.  The  beautiful  is 
the  manifestation  of  the  idea.^ 

After  Hegel  come  his  numerous  followers,  Weisse, 
Arnold  Ruge,  Rosenkranz,  Theodor  Vischer,  and  others. 

According  to  Weisse  (1801-67),  art  is  the  intro- 
duction (Einbildung)  of  the  absolutely  spiritual  essence 
of  beauty  into  the  external,  dead,  and  indifferent  matter, 
the  concept  of  which,  outside  of  the  beauty  introduced 
into  it,  represents  in  itself  the  negation  of  every  existence 
for  oneself  (Negation  alles  Fiirsichseins). 

In  the  idea  of  truth,  says  Weisse,  lies  the  contradiction 
of  the  subjective  and  the  objective  sides  of  cognition,  in 
that  the  single  ego  cognizes  the  All-being.  This  contra- 
diction may  be  removed  by  the  concept  which  would  unite 
116.  pp.  946,  1085,  984-985,  990. 


162  WHAT   IS   ART? 

into  one  the  moment  of  universality  and  unity,  which  in  the 
concept  of  truth  falls  into  two  parts.  Such  a  concept  would 
be  truth  harmonized  (aufgehoben),  —  beauty  is  such  har- 
monized truth.^ 

According  to  Euge  (1802-80),  a  strict  adherent  of 
Hegel,  beauty  is  a  self-expressing  idea.  The  spirit,  con- 
templating itself,  finds  itself  expressed,  either  in  full,  — 
and  then  this  full  expression  of  oneself  is  beauty,  or  not 
in  full,  —  and  then  there  appears  in  him  the  necessity  of 
changing  his  incomplete  expression,  and  then  the  spirit 
becomes  creative  art.^ 

According  to  Vischer  (1807-87),  beauty  is  the  idea 
in  the  form  of  the  limited  manifestation.  But  the  idea 
itself  is  not  indivisible,  but  forms  a  system  of  ideas,  wliich 
present  themselves  as  an  ascending  and  descending  line. 
The  higher  the  idea,  the  more  beauty  does  it  contain  ;  but 
even  the  lowest  contains  beauty,  because  it  forms  a  neces- 
sary link  of  tlie  system.  The  highest  form  of  the  idea  is 
personality,  and  so  the  highest  art  is  that  which  has  the 
highest  personality  for  its  object.^ 

Such  are  the  German  theories  of  aesthetics  in  the  one 
Hegelian  direction ;  but  the  aesthetic  considerations  are 
not  exhausted  with  this :  side  by  side  with  the  Hegelian 
theories  there  appear  simultaneously  in  Germany  theories 
of  beauty  which  not  only  do  not  recognize  Hegel's  propo- 
sitions in  regard  to  beauty  as  the  manifestation  of  an  idea, 
and  of  art  as  an  expression  of  this  idea,  but  which  are 
even  directly  opposed  to  this  view,  and  which  deny  and 
ridicule  it.  Such  are  those  of  Herbart  and  especially 
Schopenhauer. 

According  to  Herbart  (1776-1841),  there  is  no  beauty 
in  itself,  and  there  can  be  none ;  but  what  there  is,  is  our 
judgment,  and  it  is  necessary  to  discover  the  foundations 
of  this  judgment  (a^sthetisches  Elementarurtheil).  And 
these  foundations  of  judgments  are  found  in  the  relation 
1 16.  pp.  966,  955-956.  ^Ib.  1017.  »Ib.  pp.  1065-1066. 


WHAT    IS    ART?  163 

of  impressions.  There  are  certain  relations,  which  we 
call  beautiful,  and  art  consists  in  finding  these  relations, 
which  are  coexisting  in  painting,  plastic  art,  and  architec- 
ture, and  consecutive  and  coexisting  in  music,  and  only 
consecutive  in  poetry.  In  opposition  to  former  aestheti- 
cians,  beautiful  objects  are,  according  to  Herbart,  frequently 
such  as  express  absolutely  nothing,  as,  for  example,  the 
rainbow,  which  is  beautiful  on  account  of  its  Hne  and 
colours,  and  by  no  means  in  relation  to  the  significance 
of  its  myth,  as  Iris,  or  Noah's  rainbow.^ 

Another  opponent  of  Hegel  was  Schopenhauer,  who 
rejected  Hegel's  whole  system  and  his  aesthetics. 

According  to  Schopenhauer  (1788-1860),  the  will  ob- 
jectifies itself  in  the  world  at  various  stages,  and,  although 
the  higher  the  degree  of  its  objectivation  is,  the  more 
beautiful  it  is,  each  degree  has  its  beauty.  The  renuncia- 
tion of  one's  individuality  and  the  contemplation  of  one 
of  these  degrees  of  the  manifestation  of  the  will  give 
us  the  consciousness  of  beauty.  All  men,  according  to 
Schopenhauer,  possess  the  ability  to  cognize  this  idea 
at  its  various  stages  and  thus  to  free  themselves  for  a 
time  from  their  personality.  But  the  genius  of  the  artist 
has  this  ability  in  the  highest  degree,  and  so  manifests 
the  highest  beauty.^ 

After  these  more  prominent  authors  there  follow  in 
Germany  less  original  ones,  who  had  less  influence,  such 
as  Hartmann,  Kirchmann,  Schnasse,  Helmholtz  partly 
(as  an  sesthetician),  Bergmann,  Jungmann,  and  an  endless 
number  of  others. 

According  to  Hartmann  (1842),  beauty  does  not  lie  in 
the  external  world,  not  in  the  thing  itself,  nor  in  man's 
soul,  but  in  what  is  seeming  (Schein),  which  is  produced 
by  the  artist.  The  thing  in  itself  is  not  beautiful,  but 
the  artist  changes  it  into  beauty.^ 

176.  pp.  1097-1100.  2J6.  pp.  1124,  1107. 

3  Knight,  pp.  81-82. 


164  WHAT   IS   ART? 

According  to  Schnasse  (1798-1875),  there  is  no  beauty 
in  the  world.  In  Nature  there  is  but  an  approximation 
to  it.  Art  gives  what  Nature  cannot  give.  Beauty  is 
manifested  in  the  activity  of  the  free  ego,  which  is  con- 
scious of  a  harmony  that  does  not  exist  in  Nature.^ 

Kirchmann  wrote  a  whole  experimental  aesthetics. 
According  to  Kirchmann  (1802-84),  there  are  six 
spheres  of  history :  (1)  the  sphere  of  knowledge,  (2)  the 
sphere  of  wealth,  (3)  the  sphere  of  morality,  (4)  of  religion, 
(5)  of  politics,  and  (6)  of  beauty.  The  activity  in  this 
sphere  is  art.^ 

According  to  Helmholtz  (1821),  who  wrote  of  beauty 
in  relation  to  music,  beauty  is  attained  in  a  musical  com- 
position invariably  only  through  following  the  laws, — 
but  these  laws  are  unknown  to  the  artist,  so  that  beauty 
is  manifested  in  the  artist  unconsciously,  and  cannot  be 
subjected  to  analysis.^ 

According  to  Bergmann  (1840),  in  his  Ueber  das 
Schone  (1887),  it  is  impossible  objectively  to  determine 
beauty :  beauty  is  cognized  subjectively,  and  so  the  prob- 
lem of  aesthetics  consists  in  determining  what  it  is  that 
pleases  this  or  that  man.* 

According  to  Jungmann  (died  1885),  beauty  is,  in 
the  first  place,  a  suprasensible  property  of  things ;  in  the 
second,  beauty  produces  in  us  pleasure  through  mere 
contemplation ;  in  the  third,  beauty  is  the  foundation  of 
love.^ 

The  French  and  the  English  theories  of  aesthetics  and 
those  of  other  nations  for  recent  times  are,  in  their  chief 
representatives,  the  following : 

In  France,  the  prominent  authors  on  aesthetics  for  this 
time  were :  Cousin,  Jouffroy,  Petit,  Ravaisson,  L^veque. 

Cousin  (1792-1867)  is  an  eclectic  and  a  follower  of  the 
German  idealists.     According  to  his  theory,  beauty  has 

1/6.  p.  «3.  2Schaslcr,  p.  1122.  3  Knight,  pp.  85-86. 

4i6.  p.  88.  6i6.  p.  88. 


WHAT   IS   ART?  165 

always  a  moral  basis.  Cousin  refutes  the  proposition  that 
art  is  imitation,  and  that  the  beautiful  is  that  which 
pleases.  He  asserts  that  beauty  may  be  determined  in 
itself,  and  that  its  essence  consists  in  diversity  in  unity .^ 

After  Cousin,  JoufFroy  (1796-1842)  wrote  on  aesthetics. 
Jouffroy  is  also  a  follower  of  German  eesthetics  and  a 
disciple  of  Cousin.  According  to  his  definition,  beauty  is 
the  expression  of  the  invisible  by  means  of  visible  signs, 
which  make  it  manifest.  The  visible  world  is  the  gar- 
ment by  means  of  which  we  see  beauty .^ 

The  Swiss  Pictet,^  who  wrote  on  art,  repeats  Hegel 
and  Plato,  assuming  beauty  to  lie  in  the  immediate  and 
free  manifestation  of  the  divine  idea  which  makes  itself 
manifest  in  sensuous  images. 

L^veque  is  a  follower  of  Schelling  and  of  Hegel.  Ac- 
cording to  L^veque,  beauty  is  something  invisible  which 
is  concealed  in  Nature.  Force  or  spirit  is  the  manifesta- 
tion of  organized  energy.^ 

Similarly  indefinite  judgments  about  the  essence  of 
beauty  were  uttered  by  the  French  metaphysician  Eavais- 
son,  who  recognizes  beauty  as  the  final  aim  of  the  world. 
"  La  beaut^  la  plus  divine  et  principalement  la  plus 
parfaite  contient  le  secret."^  According  to  his  opinion, 
beauty  is  the  aim  of  the  world. 

"  Le  monde  entier  est  I'oeuvre  d'une  beaut^  absolue,  qui 
n'est  la  cause  des  choses  que  par  I'amour  qu'elle  met  en 
elles." 

I  purposely  do  not  tran"slate  these  metaphysical  ex- 
pressions, because,  no  matter  how  hazy  the  Germans  may 
be,  the  French,  when  they  fill  themselves  with  the  con- 
tents of  German  books  and  imitate  them,  surpass  them  by 
far,  as  they  unite  into  one  the  heterogeneous  concepts 
and  indiscriminately  substitute  one  for  the  other.  Thus, 
the   French   philosopher   Renouvier,   who  also   discusses 

1  lb.  p.  112.  2//,.  p.  no.  sib.  p.  118. 

*  lb.  pp.  123-124.  ^  La  pJiilosophie  en  France,  p.  232. 


166  WHAT    IS    ART? 

beauty,  says :  "  Ne'  craignons  pas  de  dire,  qu'uue  v^rit^, 
qui  ne  serait  pas  belle,  n'est  qu'un  jeu  logique  de  notre 
esprit  et  que  la  seule  v^iit^  solide  et  digne  de  ce  nom 
c'est  la  beaute."  ^ 

Besides  these  idealistic  iiestheticians,  who  have  written 
under  the  influence  of  German  philosophy,  Taine,  Guyau, 
Cherbuhez,  Coster,  V^ron,  have  of  late  had  in  France  an 
influence  on  the  comprehension  of  art  and  beauty. 

According  to  Taine  (1828-93),  beauty  is  the  mani- 
festation of  the  essential  character  of  some  important  idea, 
which  is  more  perfect  than  its  expression  in  reality .^ 

According  to  Guyau  (1854-88),  beauty  is  not  some- 
thing foreign  to  the  object  itself,  nor  a  parasitical  plant 
upon  it,  but  the  florescence  itself  of  the  being  on  which 
it  is  manifested.  But  art  is  the  expression  of  rational 
and  conscious  life,  which  calls  forth  in  us,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  profouudest  sensations  of  existence,  on  the  other, 
the  highest  and  most  elevated  of  ideas.  Art  raises  man 
from  his  personal  life  to  the  universal,  not  only  through 
a  participation  in  the  same  ideas  and  beliefs,  but  also 
through  the  same  sentiments.^ 

According  to  Cherbuliez,  art  is  an  activity  which 
(1)  satisfies  our  inherent  love  of  images  (apparences),  (2) 
introduces  ideas  into  these  images,  and  (3)  ofi'ers  enjoy- 
ment simultaneously  to  our  feelings,  our  heart,  and  our 
reason.  But  beauty,  according  to  Cherbuliez,  is  not 
inherent  in  the  objects,  but  is  an  act  of  our  soul.  Beauty 
is  an  illusion.  There  is  no  absolute  beauty,  and  that 
appears  beautiful  which  to  us  seems  to  be  characteristic 
and  harmonious. 

According  to  Coster,  the  ideas  of  beauty,  goodness,  and 
truth  are  inborn.  These  ideas  enlighten  our  intellect 
and  are  identical  with  God,  who  is  goodness,  truth,  and 

1  Du  fondement  de  Vinduction. 

2  Taine,  Philosophic  de  Vart,!.,  1893,  p.  47. 
8  linight,  pp.  139-141. 


WHAT    IS    ART?  167 

beauty.  The  idea  of  beauty  includes  the  unity  of  essence, 
the  diversity  of  the  component  elements,  and  order,  which 
introduces  unity  into  the  diversity  of  the  manifestations 
of  life.i 

For  completeness'  sake  I  will  quote  a  few  more  recent 
writings  on  art. 

La  psychologie  du  Beau  et  de  I'Art,  by  Mario  Pilo 
(1895).  According  to  Mario  Pilo,  beauty  is  the  product 
of  our  physical  sensations,  and  the  aim  of  art  is  enjoy- 
ment, but  this  enjoyment  is  for  some  reason  sure  to  be 
considered  highly  moral. 

Then  Essais  sur  Fart  contemporam,  by  H.  Fierens- 
Gevaert  (1807),  according  to  whom  art  depends  on  its 
connection  with  the  past  and  on  the  religious  ideal  which 
the  artist  of  the  present  sets  before  himself,  giving  to  his 
production  the  form  of  his  individuality. 

Then  Sar  Peladan's  L'art  idealiste  et  mystique  (1894). 
According  to  Peladan,  beauty  is  one  of  the  expressions 
of  God.  "  II  n'y  a  pas  d'autre  Eealit^  que  Dieu ;  il  n'y 
a  pas  d'autre  Verite  que  Dieu ;  il  n'y  a  pas  d'autre  Beauts 
que  Dieu  "  (p.  33).  This  book  is  very  fantastic  and  very 
ignorant,  but  it  is  characteristic  on  account  of  its  proposi- 
tions and  on  account  of  a  certain  success  which  it  has 
among  the  French  youth. 

Such  are  the  esthetics  which  were  most  current  in 
France  until  recently,  from  which  Veron's  book,  L'esthe- 
tique  (1878),  forms  an  exception  on  account  of  its  lucidity 
and  sensibleness ;  although  it  does  not  precisely  define 
art,  it  at  least  removes  from  aesthetics  the  hazy  concept  of 
absolute  beauty. 

According  to  V^ron  (1825-89),  art  is  a  manifesta- 
tion of  feeling  (Amotion),  wliich  is  transmitted  from  with- 
out through  combinations  of  lines,  forms,  colours,  or 
through  the  consecutiveness  of  gestures,  sounds,  or  words, 
which  are  subject  to  certain  rhythms.^ 

1  Knight,  p.  134.  ^L'estMUque,  p.  106. 


168  WHAT   IS   ART? 

In  England  the  writers  on  aesthetics  of  this  time  more 
and  more  frequently  define  beauty,  not  by  its  character- 
istic properties,  but  by  taste,  and  the  question  of  beauty 
gives  way  to  the  question  of  taste. 

After  Eeid  (1704-96),  who  recognized  beauty  only 
in  dependence  on  the  person  contemplating  it,  Alison,  in 
his  book.  On  the  Nature  and  Principles  of  Taste  (1790), 
proves  the  same.  The  same,  but  from  another  side,  is 
affirmed  by  Erasmus  Darwin  (1731-1802),  the  uncle 
of  the  famous  Charles.  He  says  that  we  find  beautiful 
what  in  our  conception  is  united  with  what  we  love.  The 
same  tendency  is  found  in  Eichard  Knight's  book.  Ana- 
lytical Inquiry  on  the  Principles  of  Taste  (1805). 

The  same  tendency  is  to  be  found  in  the  majority  of 
the  theories  by  the  English  iiestheticians.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  the  present  century,  Charles  Darwin  in  part, 
Spencer,  Mozley,  Grant  Allen,  Ker,  Knight,  were  promi- 
nent writers  in  esthetics  in  England. 

According  to  Charles  Darwin  (1809-83),  Descent  of 
Man  (1871),  beauty  is  a  sentiment  which  is  not  peculiar 
to  man  alone,  but  also  to  animals,  and  so  also  to  man's 
ancestors.  The  birds  adorn  their  nests  and  appreciate 
beauty  in  their  mates.  Beauty  has  an  influence  on  mar- 
riages. Beauty  includes  the  concept  of  various  characters. 
The  origin  of  the  art  of  music  is  the  call  of  the  males  for 
their  females.^ 

According  to  Spencer  (1820),  the  origin  of  art  is  play, 
a  thought  which  was  expressed  before  by  Schiller.  In  the 
lower  animals  all  the  energy  of  life  is  spent  on  the  sup- 
port and  continuation  of  life ;  but  in  man  there  appears, 
after  the  gratification  of  his  needs,  a  surplus  of  strength. 
This  surplus  is  used  for  play,  which  passes  into  art.  Play 
is  a  simulation  of  the  real  act,  —  and  so  is  art. 

The  source  of  aesthetic  enjoyment  is  :  (1)  what  exercises 
the  senses  (vision  or  any  other  sense)  in  the  completest 

1  Knight,  p.  238. 


WHAT   IB   ART?  169 

manner,  with  the  least  loss  and  the  greatest  amount  of 
exercise ;  (2)  the  greatest  diversity  of  sensations  evoked, 
and  (3)  the  union  of  the  first  two  with  the  representation 
arising  from  it.^ 

According  to  Todhunter  {The  Tlieory  of  the  Beautiful, 
1872),  beauty  is  infinite  attractiveness,  which  we  cognize 
with  reason  and  with  the  enthusiasm  of  love.  The  recog- 
nition of  beauty  as  such  depends  on  taste  and  cannot  be 
defined  by  anything.  The  only  approximation  to  a  defi- 
nition is  the  greatest  culture  of  men ;  but  there  is  no 
definition  of  what  culture  is.  The  essence  of  art,  of  what 
moves  us  through  lines,  colours,  sounds,  words,  is  not  the 
product  of  blind  forces,  but  of  rational  forces  striving, 
while  aiding  one  another,  toward  a  rational  aim.  Beauty 
is  a  harmonization  of  contradictions.^ 

According  to  Mozley  {Sermons  Preached  before  the 
University  of  Oxford,  1876),  beauty  is  found  in  the  human 
soul.  Nature  tells  us  of  what  is  divine,  and  art  is  the 
hieroglypliic  expression  of  the  divine.^ 

According  to  Grant  Allen  {Physiological  Esthetics, 
1877),  the  continuator  of  Spencer,  beauty  has  a  physical 
origin.  He  says  that  sesthetic  enjoyment  is  due  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  beautiful,  and  the  concept  of  the  beauti- 
ful results  from  a  physiological  process.  The  beginning 
of  art  is  play ;  with  the  surplus  of  physical  forces  man 
abandons  himself  to  play,  and  with  the  surplus  of  recep- 
tive forces  man  abandons  himself  to  the  activity  of  art. 
Beautiful  is  that  which  gives  the  greatest  excitation  with 
a  minimum  of  loss.  The  difference  in  the  appreciation  of 
the  beautiful  is  due  to  taste.  Taste  may  be  educated. 
It  is  necessary  to  believe  in  the  judgment  of  "  the  finest 
nurtured  and  most  discriminative  men,"  that  is,  those 
who  are  best  capable  to  appreciate.  These  men  form  the 
taste  of  the  future  generation.* 

1 16.  239-240.  ^Ib.  pp.  240-243.  sib.  p.  247. 

*Ib.  250-262. 


170  WHAT    IS    ART? 

According  to  Ker  [Essay  on  Philosophy  of  Art,  1883), 
beauty  gives  us  the  means  of  a  full  comprehension  of  the 
objective  world  without  references  to  other  parts  of 
the  world,  as  is  inevitable  for  science.  And  so  science 
destroys  the  contradiction  between  unity  and  multiplicity, 
between  the  law  and  the  phenomenon,  between  the 
subject  and  the  object,  uniting  them  into  one.  Art  is 
the  manifestation  and  assertion  of  freedom,  because  it 
is  free  from  the  obscurity  and  incomprehensibility  of  finite 
things.^ 

According  to  Knight  (^Philosophy  of  the  Beautiful,  II., 
1893),  beauty  is,  as  with  Schelling,  the  union  of  the  ob- 
ject with  the  subject,  an  extraction  from  Nature  of  what 
is  proper  to  man,  and  the  consciousness  in  oneself  of 
what  is  common  to  all  Nature. 

The  opinions  on  beauty  and  art  which  are  quoted  here  by 
no  means  exhaust  everything  which  has  been  written  about 
this  subject.  Besides,  every  day  there  appear  new  writers 
on  aesthetics,  and  in  the  opinions  of  these  new  writers  there 
is  the  same  enchanted  obscurity  and  contradictoriness 
in  the  definition  of  beauty.  Some  from  inertia  continue 
Baumgarten's  and  Hegel's  mystical  aesthetics  with  various 
modifications,  others  transfer  the  question  into  the  sub- 
jective sphere  and  seek  for  the  bases  of  the  beautiful  in 
matters  of  art ;  others  —  the  testheticians  of  the  very 
latest  formation  —  find  the  beginning  of  beauty  in  phys- 
iological laws;  others  again  discuss  the  question  quite 
independently  of  the  concept  of  beauty.  Thus,  according 
to  Sully  {Studies  in  Psychology  and  Esthetics,  1874),  the 
concept  of  beauty  is  completely  set  aside,  since  art,  accord- 
ing to  Sully's  definition,  is  the  product  of  a  permanent  or 
passing  subject,  capable  of  affording  active  pleasure  and 
agreeable  impressions  to  a  certain  number  of  spectators  or 
hearers,  independently  of  the  advantages  derived  from  it.^ 
Ub.  pp.  258-259.  ^Ib.  p.  243. 


IV. 

Now,  what  results  from  all  these  definitions  of  beauty 
as  enunciated  by  the  science  of  esthetics  ?  If  we  leave  out 
of  consideration  the  definitions  of  beauty,  which  are  entirely 
inexact  and  do  not  cover  the  concept  of  art,  and  which 
assume  it  to  lie,  now  in  usefulness,  now  in  fitness,  now  in 
symmetry,  now  in  order,  now  iu  proportion,  now  in  smooth- 
ness, now  in  the  harmony  of  the  parts,  now  in  unity,  now 
in  diversity,  now  in  the  vaiious  combinations  of  these 
principles,  if  we  leave  out  of  consideration  these  unsatis- 
factory attempts  at  objective  definitions,  —  all  the  lesthetic 
definitions  of  beauty  reduce  themselves  to  two  fundamental 
conceptions:  the  first  is  this,  that  beauty  is  something 
which  exists  in  itself,  one  of  the  manifestations  of  the 
absolutely  perfect,  —  the  Idea,  the  Spirit,  the  Will,  God,  — 
and  the  other  —  that  beauty  is  a  pleasure  of  a  certain  kind, 
experienced  by  us,  which  has  no  aim  of  personal  advantage. 

The  first  definition  was  accepted  by  Fichte,  Schelling, 
Hegel,  Schopenhauer,  and  the  philosophizing  Frenchmen, 
Cousin,  Jouffroy,  Ravaisson,  and  others,  not  to  mention 
the  philosophical  ?estheticians  of  secondary  importance. 
The  greater  half  of  the  educated  people  of  our  time  hold 
to  the  same  objectively  mystical  definition  of  beauty. 
This  conception  of  beauty  has  been  very  popular,  espe- 
cially among  men  of  the  former  generation. 

The  .second  conception  of  beauty,  as  of  a  pleasure  of  a 
certain  kind,  derived  by  us,  which  has  not  for  its  aim 
any  personal  advantage,  is  preeminently  popular  among 
the  English  a'stheticians,  and  is  shared  by  the  other  half, 
mainly  the  younger,  of  our  society. 

171 


172  WHAT   IS   ART? 

Thus  there  exist,  as  indeed  it  cannot  be  otherwise,  only 
two  definitions  of  beauty:  one  —  the  objective,  mystical 
definition,  which  blends  this  connection  with  the  higher 
perfection,  with  God,  —  a  fantastical  definition,  which  is 
not  founded  on  anything ;  the  other,  on  the  contrary, 
is  very  simple  and  comprehensible,  and  subjective ;  it 
considers  beauty  to  be  what  pleases  us  (to  the  word 
"  pleases  "  I  do  not  add  "  without  any  aim,  or  advantage," 
because  the  word  "  pleases  "  naturally  includes  this  absence 
of  considerations  of  advantage). 

On  the  one  hand,  beauty  is  understood  as  something  mys- 
tical and  very  elevated,  but,  unfortunately,  something  very 
indefinite,  and  so  including  philosophy,  and  religion,  and  life 
itself,  as  is  the  case  with  Schelling  and  Hegel  and  their 
German  and  French  followers  ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  as 
it  must  be  accepted,  according  to  thfe  definition  of  Kant 
and  his  followers,  beauty  is  nothing  but  an  unselfish  en- 
joyment of  a  peculiar  kind,  which  we  experience.  In  this 
case,  beauty,  though,  it  seems  to  be  very  clear,  is  unfortu- 
nately again  inexact,  because  it  expands  in  another  direc- 
tion, namely,  it  includes  the  enjoyments  derived  from 
drink,  food,  the  touch  of  a  tender  skin,  and  so  forth,  as 
it  is  accepted  by  Guyau,  Kralik,  and  others. 

It  is  true  that,  in  following  the  evolution  of  the  doctrine 
of  beauty  in  aesthetics,  we  can  observe  that  in  the  begin- 
ning, ever  since  the  time  when  the  science  of  aesthetics 
was  established,  there  predominated  the  metaphysical 
definition  of  beauty,  and  that  the  nearer  we  approach  our 
time,  the  more  and  more  is  there  worked  out  an  experi- 
mental definition,  which  of  late  has  been  assuming  a  phys- 
iological character,  so  that  we  meet  with  such  aesthetics 
as  V^ron's  and  Sully's,  who  try  to  get  along  entirely 
without  the  concept  of  beauty.  But  such  sestheticians 
have  very  little  success,  and  the  majority,  both  of  the 
public  and  the  artists  and  the  scholars,  hold  firmly  to 
the  concept  of  beauty  as  it  is  defined  in  the  majority  of  the 


WHAT    IS    ART?  173 

aesthetics,  that  is,  as  something  mystical  or  metaphysical, 
or  as  some  special  kind  of  enjoyment. 

But  what,  in  reality,  is  the  concept  of  beauty  to  which 
the  men  of  our  circle  and  time  hold  so  stubbornly  in  their 
definition  of  art  ? 

Beauty  in  the  subjective  sense  we  call  what  furnishes 
us  enjoyment  of  a  certain  kind.  In  the  objective  sense, 
we  call  beauty  something  which  is  absolutely  perfect,  and 
we  accept  it  as  such  only  because  we  derive  from  the 
manifestation  of  this  absolute  perfection  a  certain  kind  of 
enjoyment,  so  that  the  objective  definition  is  nothing  but 
a  differently  expressed  subjective  definition.  In  reality 
both  concepts  of  beauty  reduce  themselves  to  a  certain  kind 
of  pleasure  derived  by  us,  that  is,  we  accept  as  beauty  what 
pleases  us,  without  evoking  desire  in  us.  It  would  seem 
that,  with  such  a  state  of  affairs,  it  would  be  natural  for 
the  science  of  art  not  to  be  satisfied  with  the  definition  of 
art  as  based  on  beauty,  that  is,  on  what  pleases,  and  to 
seek  a  common  definition,  applical^le  to  all  products  of 
art,  on  the  basis  of  which  it  would  be  possible  to  deter- 
mine the  pertinency  or  non-pertinency  of  objects  to  art. 
But,  as  the  reader  may  see  from  the  extracts  quoted  by 
me  from  the  ;esthetics,  and  still  more  clearly  from  the 
sesthetical  works  themselves,  if  he  will  take  the  trouble  to 
read  them,  there  is  no  such  definition.  All  the  attempts 
at  defining  absolute  beauty  in  itself,  as  imitation  of  Nature, 
as  fitness,  as  correspondence  of  parts,  symmetry,  harmony, 
unity  in  diversity,  etc.,  either  define  nothing,  or  define  only 
certain  features  of  certain  products  of  art  and  are  far  from 
covering  everything  which  all  men  have  always  regarded 
as  art. 

There  is  no  objective  definition  of  art ;  but  the  existing 
definitions,  both  the  metaphysical  and  the  experimental, 
reduce  themselves  to  a  subjective  definition  and,  however 
strange  it  may  seem  to  say  so,  to  this,  that  that  is  con- 
sidered to  be  art  which  manifests  beauty ;  but  beauty  is 


174  WHAT    IS   ART? 

what  pleases  (without  evoking  desire).  Many  sestheticians 
have  felt  the  insufficiency  and  weakness  of  such  a  defi- 
nition, and,  in  order  to  find  a  basis  for  it,  have  asked  them- 
selves why  this  or  that  pleases,  and  have  transferred  the 
question  of  beauty  to  that  of  taste,  as  was  done  by  Hutch- 
eson,  Voltaire,  Diderot,  and  others.  But  all  the  attempts 
at  defining  what  taste  is,  as  the  reader  may  see  from  the 
history  of  aesthetics  and  from  experience,  cannot  bring  us 
to  anything,  and  there  is  no  explanation,  and  there  can  be 
none,  as  to  why  such  and  such  a  thing  pleases  one  and 
does  not  please  another,  and  vice  versa.  Thus  the  whole 
existing  aesthetics  does  not  consist  in  what  one  could  ex- 
pect from  the  mental  activity  which  calls  itself  science,  — 
namely,  in  defining  the  properties  and  laws  of  art  or  of 
the  beautiful,  if  this  is  the  contents  of  art,  or  the  property 
of  taste,  if  taste  decides  the  question  of  art  and  its  value, 
and  then  in  recognizing  as  art,  on  the  basis  of  these  laws, 
those  productions  which  fit  in  with  these  laws,  and  in 
rejecting  those  which  do  not  fit  in  with  them ;  —  it  con- 
sists in  this,  that,  having  come  to  recognize  a  certain  kind 
of  production  as  good,  because  it  pleases  us,  we  form  a 
theory  of  art,  according  to  which  all  the  productions 
which  please  a  certain  circle  of  men  should  be  included  in 
this  theory.  There  exists  an  artistic  canon,  according  to 
which  favourite  productions  are  in  our  circle  recognized 
as  art  (Phidias,  Sophocles,  Homer,  Titian,  Eaphael,  Bach, 
Beethoven,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Gcithe,  and  others),  and 
the  aesthetic  judgments  must  be  such  as  to  take  in  all  these 
productions.  Opinions  as  to  the  value  and  significance  of 
art,  which  are  not  based  on  certain  laws,  according  to 
which  we  consider  tliis  or  that  good  or  bad,  but  on  this, 
whether  it  coincides  with  the  canon  of  art,  as  established 
l)y  us,  are  constantly  met  with  in  aesthetic  literature. 
The  other  day  I  read  a  book  by  Volkelt :  it  is  not  at  all 
bad.  In  discussing  the  demands  of  the  mornl  in  the  pro- 
ductions of  art,  the  author  says  outright  that  the  putting 


WHAT    IS    ART?  175 

forward  of  demands  of  morality  in  art  is  wrong,  and 
in  proof  of  this  he  mentions  that,  if  we  were  to  admit  this 
demand,  Shakespeare's  Bovico  and  Juliet  and  Gtithe's  Wil- 
helm  Mcister  would  not  fit  in  with  the  definition  of  good 
art.  But  since  both  do  enter  into  the  canon  of  art,  this 
demand  is  not  right.  And  so,  it  is  necessary  to  find  a 
definition  of  art  into  which  these  productions  would  fit, 
and  so  Volkelt,  in  the  stead  of  the  demand  of  what  is  moral, 
places  at  the  base  of  art  the  demand  of  what  is  important 
(Bedeutungsvolle). 

All  existing  aesthetics  are  composed  according  to  this 
plan.  Instead  of  giving  a  definition  of  true  art,  and  then, 
judging  from  this,  whether  a  production  fits  in  with  this 
definition,  or  not,  or  judging  as  to  what  is  art,  and  what 
not,  a  certain  series  of  productions,  which  for  s©me  reason 
please  men  of  a  certain  circle,  is  recognized  as  art,  and 
they  invent  a  definition  of  art  which  would  cover  all  these 
productions.  A  remarkable  confirmation  of  this  method  I 
found  lately  in  a  very  good  book.  History  of  Painting  in 
the  Nineteenth  Century,  by  Muther.  While  approaching 
the  description  of  the  Preraphaelites,  decadents,  and  sym- 
bolists, who  have  already  been  taken  into  the  canon  of 
art,  he  not  only  fails  to  have  the  courage  to  condemn  this 
tendency,  but  is  also  zealously  trying  to  expand  his  frame, 
so  as  to  include  in  it  the  Preraphaelites,  and  decadents, 
and  symbolists,  who  appear  to  him  as  a  legitimate  reac- 
tion against  the  excesses  of  naturalism.  No  matter  what 
the  madness  in  art  may  be,  the  moment  it  is  accepted 
among  the  higher  classes  of  our  society,  there  is  at  once 
worked  out  a  theory  which  explains  and  legitimizes  this 
madness,  as  though  there  never  existed  periods  in  his- 
tory when  in  certain  exclusive  circles  of  men  there  was 
accepted  and  approved  a  false,  monstrous,  senseless  art, 
which  left  no  traces  and  was  completely  forgotten  later 
on  ;  and  what  senselessness  and  monstrosity  art  may  reach, 
especially  when  it  knows  that  it  is  considered,  as  in  our 


176  WHAT    IS    ART? 

day,  infallible,  we  may  see  from  what  is  going  on  now  in 
the  art  of  our  circle. 

Thus  the  theory  of  art,  based  on  beauty  and  expounded 
in  aesthetics  and  in  dim  outlines  professed  by  the  public,  is 
nothing  but  the  acknowledgment  that  that  is  good  which 
pleased  and  still  pleases  us,  that  is,  a  certain  circle  of  men. 

In  order  to  define  any  human  activity,  we  must  under- 
stand its  meaning  and  significance.  But  in  order  to 
understand  the  meaning  and  significance  of  any  human 
activity,  we  must  necessarily  first  of  all  view  this  activity 
in  itself,  in  dependence  on  its  causes  and  consequences, 
and  not  merely  in  relation  to  the  pleasure  which  we  de- 
rive from  it. 

But  if  we  acknowledge  tlmt  the  aim  of  any  activity  is 
nothing  but  our  enjoyment,  and  define  it  only  in  refer- 
ence to  this  enjoyment,  this  definition  will  obviously  be 
false.  The  same  took  place  in  the  definition  of  art.  In 
analyzing  the  question  of  food,  it  will  not  occur  to  any 
one  to  see  the  significance  of  food  in  the  enjoyment  which 
we  derive  from  its  consumption.  Everybody  understands 
that  the  gratification  of  our  taste  can  in  no  way  serve  as 
a  basis  for  the  definition  of  the  value  of  food,  and  that, 
therefore,  we  have  no  right  whatever  to  assume  that  those 
dinners  with  Cayenne  pepper,  Limburger  cheese,  alcohol, 
and  so  forth,  to  which  we  are  accustomed  and  which 
please  us,  form  the  best  human  food. 

Similarly  beauty,  or  what  pleases  us,  can  in  no  way 
serve  as  a  basis  for  the  definition  of  art,  and  a  series  of 
objects  which  afford  us  pleasure  can  by  no  means  be  a 
sample  of  what  art  ought  to  be. 

To  see  the  aim  and  mission  of  art  in  the  enjoyment 
which  we  derive  from  it,  is  the  same  as  ascribing  —  as  is 
done  by  men  who  stand  on  the  lowest  stage  of  moral 
development  (savages,  for  example)  —  the  aim  and  sig- 
nificance of  food  to  the  enjoyment  which  we  derive  from 
its  consumption. 


WUAT    IS    ART?  177 

Just  as  people  who  think  that  the  aim  and  mission  of 
food  is  enjoyment  cannot  learn  the  true  meaning  of  eat- 
ing, so  people  who  think  that  the  aim  of  art  is  enjoyment 
cannot  learn  its  meaning  and  destination,  because  to  an 
activity  which  has  its  meaning  in  connection  witli  other 
phenomena  of  life  they  ascribe  a  false  and  exclusive 
aim  of  enjoyment.  Men  came  to  understand  that  the 
meaning  of  food  is  the  nutrition  of  the  body,  only  when 
they  stopped  regarding  enjoyment  as  the  aim  of  this 
activity.  The  same  is  true  of  art.  Men  will  understand 
the  meaning  of  art  only  when  they  will  cease  to  regard 
beauty,  that  is,  enjoyment,  as  the  aim  of  this  activity. 
The  recognition  of  beauty,  or  of  a  certain  kind  of  enjoy- 
ment which  is  derived  from  art,  as  the  aim  of  art,  not 
only  fails  to  contribute  the  definition  of  what  art  is,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  by  transferring  the  question  into  a  sphere 
which  is  entirely  alien  to  art,  —  into  metaphysical,  psy- 
chological, physiological,  and  even  historical  reflections  as 
to  why  such  and  such  a  production  pleases  some,  and 
such  and  such  does  not  please  them,  or  pleases  others, 
makes  this  definition  impossible.  And  as  the  reflection 
as  to  why  one  person  likes  a  pear  and  another  meat  in  no 
way  contributes  to  the  definition  as  to  what  the  essence  of 
nutrition  consists  in,  so  the  solution  of  the  questions  of  taste 
in  art  (to  which  the  discussions  about  art  are  involuntarily 
reduced)  not  only  fails  to  contribute  to  the  elucidation  of 
what  that  special  human  activity  which  we  call  art  con- 
sists in,  but  makes  this  elucidation  completely  impossible. 

In  reply  to  the  questions  as  to  what  art  is,  for  which 
the  labours  of  millions  of  men,  human  lives  themselves, 
and  even  morality  are  sacrificed,  we  received  from  the 
existing  aesthetics  answers  which  all  reduce  themselves 
to  this,  that  the  aim  of  art  is  beauty,  —  but  beauty  is 
recognized  through  the  enjoyment  which  we  derive  from 
it,  —  and  that  the  enjoyment  from  art  is  good  and  impor- 
tant, that  is,  that  the  enjoyment  is  good  because  it  is  an 


178  WHAT    IS   ART? 

enjoyment.  Thus,  what  is  regarded  as  a  definition  of  art 
is  not  at  all  a  definition  of  art,  but  only  a  device  for  the 
justification  of  the  existing  art.  And  so,  no  matter  how 
strange  it  may  seem,  in  spite  of  the  mountains  of  books 
written  on  art,  there  has  so  far  not  been  made  any  exact 
definition  of  art.  The  cause  of  it  is  this,  that  at  the  basis 
of  the  concept  of  art  they  have  been  placing  the  concept 
of  beauty. 


V. 

What,  then,  is  art,  if  we  reject  the  concept  of  beauty, 
which  brings  confusion  into  the  whole  matter  ?  The  last 
and  most  comprehensible  definition  of  art,  which  is  inde- 
pendent of  the  concept  of  beauty,  will  be  as  follows :  art 
is  an  activity,  which  arose  in  the  animal  kingdom  from 
the  sexual  feeling  and  the  proneness  to  play  (Schiller, 
Darwin,  Spencer),  which  is  accompanied  by  a  pleasurable 
excitation  of  the  nervous  energy  (Grant  Allen).  This 
will  be  a  definition  of  physiological  evolution.  Or:  art 
is  the  manifestation  from  without,  by  means  of  lines, 
colours,  gestures,  sounds,  words,  of  emotions  experienced 
by  man  (V^ron).  This  will  be  an  experimental  defini- 
tion. According  to  the  very  latest  definitions  by  Sully, 
art  will  be :  "  the  production  of  some  permanent  object  or 
passing  action,  which  is  fitted  not  only  to  supply  an 
active  enjoyment  to  the  producer,  but  to  convey  a  pleas- 
urable impression  to  a  number  of  spectators  or  listeners 
quite  apart  from  any  personal  advantage  to  be  derived 
from  it," 

In  spite  of  the  superiority  of  these  definitions  over  the 
metaphysical  definitions,  which  are  based  on  the  concept 
of  beauty,  these  definitions  are  none  the  less  far  from 
being  exact.  The  first,  the  definition  of  physiological 
evolution,  is  inexact,  because  it  does  not  speak  of  the 
activity  itself  which  forms  the  essence  of  art,  but  of 
the  origin  of  art.  The  definition  according  to  the  physio- 
logical effect  on  man's  organism  is  inexact,  because  many 
other  human  activities  may  be  brought  under  this  defini- 
tion, as  is  the  case  in  the  new  aesthetics,  in  which  the 

179 


180  WHAT    IS    ART? 

preparation  of  pretty  garments  and  pleasant  perfumes  and 
even  food  is  counted  in  as  art.  The  experimental  defini- 
tion, which  assumes  art  to  lie  in  the  manifestation  of 
emotions,  is  inexact,  because  a  man  may  by  means 
of  lines,  colours,  sounds,  and  words  manifest  his  emo- 
tions, without  acting  through  this  manifestation  upon 
others,  and  then  this  manifestation  wull  not  be  art. 

The  third  definition,  Sully's,  is  inexact,  because  with 
the  production  of  objects  supplying  enjoyment  to  the 
producer  and  a  pleasurable  impression  to  the  spectators 
and  listeners  without  any  advantage  to  them,  may  be 
classed  the  performance  of  sleight  of  hand  and  of  gym- 
nastic exercises,  and  other  activities,  which  do  not  form 
art,  and,  on  the  contrary,  many  objects,  from  which  we 
derive  a  disagreeable  impression,  as,  for  example,  a  gloomy 
and  cruel  scene  in  a  poetical  description  or  in  the  theatre 
forms  an  unquestionable  production  of  art. 

The  inexactness  of  all  these  definitions  is  due  to  this, 
that  in  all  these  definitions,  just  as  in  the  metaphysical 
definitions,  the  aim  of  art  is  found  in  the  enjoyment 
derived  from  it,  and  not  in  its  destination  in  the  life  of 
man  and  of  humanity. 

In  order  exactly  to  define  art,  it  is  necessary  first  of  all 
to  cease  looking  upon  it  as  a  means  for  enjoyment,  but  to 
view  art  as  one  of  the  conditions  of  human  life.  In  view- 
ing life  thus,  we  cannot  help  but  see  that  art  is  one  of  the 
means  of  intercourse  among  men. 

Every  product  of  art  has  this  effect,  that  the  receiver 
enters  into  a  certain  kind  of  intercourse  with  the  producer 
of  art  and  with  all  those  who  contemporaneously  with 
him,  before  him,  or  after  him,  have  received  or  will  receive 
the  same  artistic  impression. 

As  the  word  which  conveys  the  thoughts  and  experi- 
ences of  men  serves  as  a  means  for  the  union  of  men,  so 
also  does  art  act.  The  peculiarity  of  this  means  of  inter- 
course, which  distinguishes  it  from  intercourse  by  means 


WHAT    IS    ART?  181 

of  the  word,  consists  in  tliis,  that  by  means  of  the  word 
one  man  communicates  his  thoughts  to  another,  while 
by  means  of  art  they  communicate  their  feehngs  to  one 
another. 

The  activity  of  art  is  based  on  this,  that  man,  by  receiv- 
ing through  hearing  or  seeing  the  expressions  of  another 
man's  feelings,  is  capable  of  experiencing  the  same  feeling 
which  was  experienced  by  the  man  who  expresses  his 
feehng. 

Here  is  the  simplest  kind  of  an  example :  a  man 
laughs,  and  another  man  feels  happy ;  he  weeps,  and  the 
man  who  hears  this  weeping  feels  sad ;  he  gets  excited 
and  irritated,  and  another,  looking  at  him,  comes  to  the 
same  state.  A  man  with  his  motions,  with  the  sounds  of 
his  voice,  expresses  vivacity,  determination,  or,  on  the 
contrary,  gloom,  calm,  and  this  mood  is  communicated 
to  others.  A  man  suffers,  expressing  his  suffering  by 
means  of  groans  and  writhing,  and  this  sufiering  is  com- 
municated to  others ;  a  man  expresses  his  feehng  of 
delight,  awe,  fear,  respect  for  certain  objects,  persons, 
phenomena,  and  other  men  are  infected  and  experience 
the  same  feelings  of  delight,  awe,  fear,  respect,  for  the 
same  objects,  persons,  and  phenomena. 

It  is  on  this  property  of  men  to  be  infected  by  the 
feelings  of  other  men  that  the  activity  of  art  is  based. 

If  a  man  infects  another  or  others  directly,  immedi- 
ately, by  his  look  or  by  sounds  produced  by  him  at  the 
moment  that  he  experiences  the  feeling  ;  or  causes  another 
man  to  yawn,  when  he  himself  is  yawning,  or  to  laugh  or 
weep,  when  he  himself  is  laughing  or  weeping  over  some- 
thing, or  to  suffer,  when  he  himself  is  suffering,  that  is  not 
yet  art. 

Art  begins  when  a  man,  with  the  purpose  of  conveying 
to  others  the  feeling  which  he  has  experienced,  evokes 
it  in  himself  and  expresses  it  by  means  of  well-known 
external  signs. 


182  WHAT   IS   ART? 

Here  is  the  simplest  kind  of  a  case :  a  boy,  who,  let  us 
say,  has  experienced  fear  from  having  met  a  wolf,  tells  of 
this  encounter  and,  in  order  to  evoke  in  others  the  sen- 
sation which  he  has  experienced,  pictures  himself,  his  con- 
dition before  this  encounter,  the  surroundings,  the  forest, 
his  carelessness,  and  then  the  looks  of  the  wolf,  liis 
motions,  the  distance  between  him  and  the  wolf,  and  so 
forth.  All  this,  if  during  the  recital  the  boy  again  lives 
through  the  sensation  experienced  by  him,  infects  his 
hearers,  and  causes  them  to  go  through  everything  through 
which  the  narrator  has  passed,  is  art.  Even  if  the  boy  did 
not  see  the  wolf,  but  frequently  was  afraid  of  him,  and, 
wishing  to  evoke  in  others  the  sensation  of  fear  experi- 
enced by  him,  invented  the  encounter  with  the  wolf  and 
told  of  it  in  such  a  way  that  by  his  recital  the  same  sen- 
sation was  evoked  in  his  hearers  which  he  experienced  in 
picturing  the  wolf  to  himself,  this  is  also  art.  Similarly 
it  will  be  art,  when  a  man,  having  in  reality  or  in  his 
imagination  experienced  the  terror  of  suffering  or  the 
charm  of  enjoyment,  has  represented  these  sensations  on 
canvas  or  in  marble,  so  that  others  are  infected  by  it. 
And  similarly  it  will  be  art  if  a  man  has  experienced 
or  imagined  to  himself  the  sensation  of  mirth,  joy,  sad- 
ness, despair,  vivacity,  gloom,  or  the  transitions  of  these 
sensations  from  one  to  another,  and  has  represented 
these  sensations  in  words  in  such  a  way  that  the  hearers 
are  infected  by  them  and  pass  through  them  just  as  he 
passed  through  them. 

The  most  varied  sensations,  the  strongest  and  the 
weakest,  the  most  important  and  the  most  insignificant, 
the  worst  and  the  best,  so  long  as  they  infect  the  reader, 
spectator,  hearer,  form  the  subject  of  art.  The  feeling  of 
self-renunciation  and  submission  to  fate  or  to  God,  as 
conveyed  in  the  drama ;  or  of  the  ecstasy  of  lovers,  as  de- 
scribed in  the  novel ;  or  the  feeling  of  lust,  as  represented 
in  a  picture ;  or  of  vivacity,  as  communicated  in  a  solemn 


WHAT    IS    ART?  183 

march  in  music ;  or  of  merriment,  as  evoked  by  a 
dance ;  or  of  humour,  as  evoked  by  a  funny  anecdote ;  or 
the  sensation  of  quiet,  as  conveyed  by  yesterday's  land- 
scape or  cradle-song,  —  all  this  is  art. 

The  moment  the  spectators,  the  hearers,  are  infected 
by  the  same  feeling  which  the  composer  experienced,  we 
have  art. 

To  evoke  in  oneself  a  sensation  which  one  has  experi- 
enced before,  and,  having  evoked  it  in  oneself  by  means 
of  motions,  lines,  colours,  sounds,  images,  expressed  in 
words,  to  communicate  this  sensation  in  such  a  way  that 
others  may  experience  the  same  sensation,  —  in  this  does 
the  activity  of  art  consist.  Art  is  a  human  activity 
which  consists  in  this,  that  one  man  consciously,  by 
means  of  certain  external  signs,  communicates  to  otliers 
the  sensations  experienced  by  him,  so  that  other  men  are 
infected  by  these  sensations  and  pass  through  them. 

Art  is  not,  as  the  metaphysicians  say,  the  manifestation 
of  any  mysterious  idea,  beauty,  God ;  it  is  not,  the  physi- 
ological ffistheticians  say,  a  play,  in  which  a  man  lets  out 
the  surplus  of  his  accumulated  energy ;  it  is  not  the 
manifestation  of  emotions  by  means  of  external  signs ;  it 
is  not  the  production  of  agreeable  objects,  above  all  else, 
not  an  enjoyment,  but  a  means  for  the  intercourse  of 
men,  necessary  for  man's  life  and  for  the  motion  toward 
the  good  of  the  separate  man  and  of  humanity,  which 
unites  men  in  the  same  feelings. 

Just  as,  thanks  to  the  ability  of  man  to  understand  the 
ideas  which  are  expressed  in  words,  every  man  is  able  to 
find  out  everything  which  in  the  sphere  of  thought  all 
humanity  has  done  for  him,  is  able  in  the  present,  thanks 
to  the  ability  of  understanding  other  men's  thoughts,  to 
become  a  participant  in  the  activity  of  other  men,  and 
himself,  thanks  to  this  ability,  is  able  to  communicate 
to  his  contemporaries  and  to  posterity  those  ideas  which 
he  has   acquired  from  others  and  his  own,  which  have 


184  WHAT    IS    ART? 

arisen  in  him  ;  even  so,  and  thanks  to  man's  ability  to  he 
infected  by  other  people's  feelings  through  art,  there  is  made 
accessible  to  him,  in  the  field  of  sentiments,  everythiug 
which  humanity  passed  through  before  him,  the  senti- 
ments which  are  experienced  by  his  contemporaries,  the 
sentiments  experienced  by  men  thousands  of  years  ago, 
and  there  is  made  possible  the  communication  of  his  own 
sentiments  to  other  people. 

If  men  did  not  have  the  ability  of  receiving  all  tbe 
thoughts  which  are  communicated  in  words  and  which 
have  been  thought  out  by  men  who  lived  before  him,  and 
to  communicate  his  ideas  to  others,  they  would  be  like 
animals  and  like  Kaspar  Hauser. 

If  there  did  not  exist  man's  other  ability,  to  be 
infected  by  art,  men  would  be  almost  more  savage  still, 
and,  above  all  else,  disunited  and  hostile. 

And  so  the  activity  of  art  is  a  very  important  activity, 
as  important  as  the  activity  of  speech,  and  just  as 
universal. 

As  the  word  acts  upon  us,  not  only  in  sermons,  orations, 
and  books,  but  also  in  every  speech  in  which  we  commu- 
nicate our  thoughts  and  experiences  to  one  another,  so 
art,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word,  penetrates  all  our 
life,  but  only  a  few  manifestations  of  this  art  do  we  call 
art,  in  the  narrower  sense  of  this  word. 

We  are  accustomed  to  understand  under  art  only  what 
we  read,  hear,  and  see  in  theatres,  at  concerts,  and  at 
exhibitions,  —  buildings,  statues,  poems,  novels;  But  all 
this  is  only  a  very  small  part  of  that  art  by  means  of 
which  we  commune  with  one  another  in  life.  The  whole 
human  life  is  filled  with  products  of  art  of  every  kind, 
from  a  cradle-song,  a  jest,  mocking,  adornments  of  houses, 
garments,  utensils,  to  church  services,  solemn  processions. 
All  this  is  the  activity  of  art.  Thus,  we  call  art  in  the 
narrower  sense  of  the  word  not  all  human  activity,  which 
communicates   feelings,   but  only   such  as  we  for  some 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  185 

reason  segregate  from  this  whole  activity  and  which  we 
invest  with  a  special  significance. 

Such  a  special  significance  all  men  have  at  all  times 
ascribed  to  the  activity  which  has  conveyed  feelings 
which  arise  from  the  religious  consciousness  of  men,  and 
this  small  part  of  all  art  has  been  called  art  in  the  full 
sense  of  this  word. 

Thus  art  was  looked  upon  by  the  men  of  antiquity,  by 
Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle.  Thus  art  was  looked  upon 
by  the  Jewish  prophets  and  by  the  ancient  Christians ; 
thus  it  is  also  understood  by  the  Mohammedans,  and  thus 
it  is  understood  by  the  religious  people  of  our  time. 

Some  teachers  of  humanity,  like  Plato  in  his  RcpuUic, 
and  the  first  Christians,  and  the  Mohammedans,  and  the 
Buddhists,  frequently  denied  all  art. 

Men  who  look  upon  art  in  an  opposite  manner  from 
the  present  view,  according  to  which  every  art  is  consid- 
ered good  so  long  as  it  affords  enjoyment,  have  thought  that 
art,  in  contradistinction  to  the  word,  which  one  may  avoid 
hearing,  is  to  such  a  degree  dangerous  by  infecting  people 
against  their  will,  that  humanity  will  lose  much  less  if  all 
art  shall  be  expelled  than  when  all  arts  shall  be  admitted. 

Such  men,  who  have  rejected  all  art,  have  obviously 
been  wrong,  because  they  have  denied  what  cannot  be 
denied,  —  one  of  the  indispensable  means  of  intercourse, 
without  which  humanity  could  not  live.  But  not  less 
wrong  are  the  men  of  our  European  civilized  society, 
circle,  and  time,  who  admit  all  art,  provided  it  serves 
beauty,  that  is,  affords  men  pleasure. 

Formerly  men  were  afraid  that  among  the  subjects  of 
art  there  might  get  such  as  corrupt  people,  and  so  it  was 
all  prohibited.  But  now  they  fear  only  lest  they  may 
lose  some  enjoyment,  which  art  gives,  and  so  protect 
every  art.  And  I  think  that  this  latter  error  is  much 
more  gross  than  the  first,  and  that  its  consequences  are 
much  more  harmful. 


VI. 

But  how  could  it  have  happened  that  that  art  itself, 
which  in  antiquity  was  either  admitted  or  entirely  de- 
nied, in  our  day  began  to  be  regarded  as  always  good,  if 
only  it  afforded  pleasure  ? 

This  happened  from  the  following  causes. 

The  appreciation  of  the  value  of  art,  that  is,  of  the 
sensations  which  it  conveys,  depends  on  the  comprehen- 
sion by  men  of  the  meaning  of  life,  on  what  they  see  their 
good  in,  and  on  what  they  see  the  evil  of  life.  But 
the  good  and  the  evil  of  life  are  defined  by  what  is 
called  religion. 

Humanity  moves  without  interruption  from  the  lower, 
less  private,  and  less  clear  to  the  higher,  less  common, 
and  clearer  comprehension  of  life.  And,  as  in  all  motion, 
there  are  advanced  men  in  this  motion,  too :  there  are 
men  who  understand  the  meaning  of  life  more  clearly 
than  others,  and  of  all  these  advanced  men  there  is  always 
one  who  more  lucidly,  accessibly,  and  forcibly  —  in  words 
and  in  his  life  —  expresses  this  meaning  of  life.  The  ex- 
pression by  this  man  of  this  meaning  of  life,  together  with 
those  superstitious  traditions  and  ceremonies  which  gener- 
ally group  themselves  about  the  memory  of  this  man,  is 
called  religion.  The  religions  are  the  indices  of  that 
higher  comprehension  of  life,  accessible  at  a  given  time 
and  in  a  given  society  to  the  best  advanced  men,  which 
all  other  men  of  this  society  invariably  and  inevitably 
approach.  And  so  it  is  only  the  religions  that  have 
always  served  as  a  foundation  for  the  valuation  of  men's 
sentiments.     If  the  sentiments  bring  the  men  nearer  to 

186 


WHAT   IS   ART?  187 

the  ideal  indicated  Ijy  religion,  agree  with  it,  and  do  not 
contradict  it,  they  are  good ;  if  they  remove  men  from  it, 
do  not  agree  with  it,  and  contradict  it,  they  are  bad. 

If  religion  puts  the  meaning  of  hfe  in  the  worship  of 
the  one  God  and  in  the  performance  of  what  is  considered 
His  will,  the  sentiments  which  arise  from  the  love  of  this 
God  and  His  law,  as  conveyed  by  art,  —  the  sacred  poetry 
of  the  prophets,  the  psalms,  the  narration  of  the  Book  of 
Genesis,  —  are  good  and  elevated  art.  But  everything 
which  is  opposed  to  it,  hke  the  communication  of  the 
sentiments  of  the  worship  of  foreign  gods  and  of  feelings 
which  are  not  in  agreement  with  the  law  of  God,  will  be 
considered  bad  art.  But  if  religion  takes  the  meaning  of 
life  to  be  in  earthly  happiness,  in  beauty,  and  in  force, 
the  joy  and  alacrity  of  life,  as  conveyed  by  art,  will  be 
considered  good  art;  but  art  which  communicates  the 
sentiment  of  effeminacy  or  dejection  will  be  bad  art,  and 
so  it  was  considered  by  the  Greeks.  If  the  meaning  of 
life  lies  in  the  good  of  one's  nation  or  in  the  prolongation 
of  that  life  which  one's  ancestors  have  led,  and  in  respect 
for  them,  then  the  art  which  conveys  the  sentiment  of  the 
joy  of  sacrifice  to  personal  gods  for  the  good  of  the  nation 
or  for  the  honour  of  the  ancestors  and  the  support  of 
their  traditions  will  be  considered  good  art ;  but  the  art 
which  expresses  sentiments  which  are  contrary  to  it  will 
be  bad,  and  such  it  was  considered  to  be  by  the  Eomans 
and  by  the  Chinese.  If  the  meaning  of  life  is  in  the 
hberation  of  self  from  the  bonds  of  animality,  the  art 
which  conveys  sentiments  which  elevate  the  soul  and 
debase  the  flesh  will  be  good  art,  and  such  it  is  considered 
by  the  Buddhists,  and  everything  w^hich  conveys  senti- 
ments which  intensify  the  passions  of  the  body  will  be 
bad  art. 

Always,  at  all  times  and  in  every  human  society,  there 
is  a  religious  consciousness,  common  to  all  men  of  this 
society,  of  what  is  good  and  what  bad,  and  this  religious 


188  WUAT    IS    ART? 

consciousness  defines  the  worth  of  the  sentiments  con- 
veyed by  art.  And  so  with  all  nations  the  art  which 
conveys  sentiments  arising  from  the  religious  conscious- 
ness common  to  the  men  of  that  nation  has  been  recog- 
nized as  good  and  has  been  encouraged  ;  but  the  art  which 
conveys  sentiments  which  do  not  agree  with  this  religious 
consciousness  has  been  considered  bad  and  has  been  re- 
jected ;  but  all  the  remaining  enormous  field  of  art,  by 
means  of  which  men  have  intercourse  among  themselves, 
has  not  been  at  all  appreciated  and  has  been  rejected  only 
when  it  was  contrary  to  the  religious  consciousness  of  its 
time.  Thus  it  was  with  all  the  nations,  —  with  the 
Greeks,  the  Jews,  the  Hindoos,  the  Egyptians,  the  Chi- 
nese ;  and  thus  it  was  at  the  appearance  of  Christianity. 

The  Christianity  of  the  first  times  regarded  as  good 
products  of  art  only  such  legends,  hves  of  saints,  sermons, 
prayers,  songs,  as  evoked  in  men  the  feeling  of  love  for 
Christ,  a  sentiment  of  meekness  in  contemplating  his 
life,  a  desire  to  follow  his  example,  a  renunciation  of  the 
worldly  life,  humility,  and  love  of  men ;  but  all  the  pro- 
ductions which  transmitted  sentiments  of  personal  enjoy- 
ments were  regarded  by  it  as  bad,  and  so  it  rejected 
all  pagan  plastic  art,  permitting  only  symbolical  plastic 
representations. 

Thus  it  was  among  the  Christians  of  the  first  centuries, 
who  accepted  Christ's  teaching,  if  not  in  its  absolutely 
true  form,  at  least  not  in  the  form  corrupted  by  paganism, 
in  which  it  was  accepted  later. 

But  besides  these  Christians,  there  appeared,  after  the 
time  of  the  wholesale  conversion  of  the  nations  to  Chris- 
tianity, by  order  of  the  authorities,  —  as  was  the  case 
under  Constantiue,  Charlemagne,  and  Vladimir,  —  the 
ecclesiastic  teaching,  which  was  much  nearer  to  paganism 
than  to  the  teaching  of  Christ.  And  this  ecclesiastic 
Christianity,  which  is  quite  distinct  from  the  other, 
began,  on  the  basis  of  its  doctrine,  to  change  the  appreci- 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  189 

ation  of  men's  sentiments  and  the  productions  of  the  arts 
which  conveyed  them.  This  ecclesiastic  Christianity  not 
only  did'  not  recognize  the  fundamental  and  essential 
propositions  of  true  Christianity,  —  the  immediate  rela- 
tion of  each  man  to  the  Father,  and  the  brotherhood  and 
equahty  of  all  men,  resulting  from  it,  and  the  substitu- 
tion of  humility  and  love  for  all  kinds  of  violence,  —  but, 
on  the  contrary,  by  establishing  a  celestial  hierarchy, 
similar  to  the  pagan  mythology,  and  a  worship  of  this 
hierarchy,  of  Christ,  the  Holy  Virgin,  the  angels,  apostles, 
saints,  martyrs,  and  not  only  of  these  divinities,  but  also 
of  their  representations,  established  as  the  essence  of  its 
teaching  blind  faith  in  the  church  and  its  decrees. 

No  matter  how  foreign  this  doctrine  was  to  true  Chris- 
tianity, no  matter  how  low  it  was,  not  only  in  comparison 
with  true  Christianity,  but  also  with  the  world  conception 
of  such  Romans  as  Julian  and  his  like,  —  it  was  none  the 
less  for  the  barbarians  who  received  this  Christianity  a 
higher  teaching  than  their  former  worship  of  God,  heroes, 
and  good  and  bad  spirits.  And  so  this  teaching  was  a 
religion  for  those  barbarians  who  accepted  it,  and  on  the 
basis  of  this  religion  was  the  art  of  that  time  appreciated; 
the  art  which  communicated  a  pious  worship  of  the  Holy 
Virgin,  of  Jesus,  of  saints,  of  angels,  a  blind  faith  and 
submission  to  the  church,  terror  before  the  torments, 
acd  hope  in  the  bliss  of  the  life  beyond  the  grave,  was 
considered  good ;  and  the  art  which  was  contrary  to  it 
was  all  considered  bad.  The  doctrine  on  the  basis  of 
which  this  art  arose  was  the  corrupted  teaching  of  Christ, 
but  the  art  which  arose  on  this  corrupted  teaching  was 
none  the  less  true  because  it  contributed  to  the  religious 
world   conception   of  the  nation   in  which  it  originated. 

The  artists  of  the  Middle  Ages,  living  by  the  same 
basis  of  sentiments,  by  the  same  religion,  as  the  masses 
of  the  nation,  and  transmitting  the  sentiments  and  moods 
experienced  by  them  in  architecture,  sculpture,  painting, 


190  WHAT   IS    ART  ? 

music,  poetry,  the  drama,  were  true  artists,  and  their 
activity,  being  based  on  the  highest  comprehension  acces- 
sible at  the  time  and  shared  by  the  whole  nation,  may  be 
low  for  our  time,  but  is  none  the  less  true  art,  which  is 
common  to  the  whole  nation. 

And  so  it  was  up  to  the  time  when  there  appeared  in 
the  highest,  wealthy,  more  educated  classes  of  European 
society  a  doubt  about  the  truth  of  that  comprehension  of 
life  which  was  expressed  in  the  ecclesiastic  Christianity. 
But  where,  after  the  Crusades,  the  higher  development  of 
the  papal  power,  and  its  misuse,  after  the  acquaintance 
with  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  the  men  of  the  wealthy 
classes  saw,  on  the  one  hand,  the  rational  clearness  of  the 
teaching  of  the  ancient  sages,  and  on  the  other,  the  lack 
of  correspondence  between  the  church  doctrine  and  the 
teaching  of  Christ,  they  lost  the  power  of  believing,  as 
before,  in  the  church  doctrine. 

Even  though  outwardly  they  preserved  the  forms  of 
the  church  doctrine,  they  no  longer  were  able  to  believe 
in  it  and  held  on  to  it  only  through  inertia,  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  people,  who  continued  to  believe  blindly  in 
the  church  doctrine,  and  whom  the  men  of  the  higher 
classes  considered  it  indispensable  for  their  own  advantage 
to  maintain  in  these  beliefs.  Thus  the  Christian  teach- 
ing of  the  church  ceased  at  a  certain  time  to  be  a  common 
religious  teaching  of  the  whole  Christian  people ;  so  the 
higher  classes,  those  in  whose  hands  was  the  power, 
the  wealth,  and  so  the  leisure  and  the  means  for  the 
production  and  encouragement  of  art,  ceased  to  believe  in 
the  religious  teaching  of  their  church,  while  the  people 
continued  to  believe  in  it  blindly. 

The  higher  classes  of  the  Middle  Ages  found  them- 
selves as  regards  religion  in  the  condition  in  which  the 
cultured  Eomans  found  themselves  before  the  appearance 
of  Christianity,  that  is,  they  no  longer  believed  in  what 
the  people  believed  in ;    they   themselves   had   no   faith 


WUAT    IS    ART  ?  191 

which  they  could  put  in  the  place  of  the  church  teach- 
ing, wliich  had  outhved  and  lost  its  significance. 

The  only  difference  was  this,  that  while  for  tlie 
Romans,  who  had  lost  their  faith  iu  their  gods,  eiii- 
perors,_  and  domestic  gods,  it  was  impossible  to  extract 
anything  else  from  that  complicated  mythology  which 
they  had  borrowed  from  all  the  conquered  nations,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  accept  an  entirely  new  world  conception, 
—  the  men  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who  had  come  to  doubt 
the  truths  of  the  church  doctrine,  did  not  have  to  look 
for  a  new  faith.  The  Christian  teaching,  which  in  a 
distorted  form  they  professed  as  the  church  faith,  had 
outlined  the  path  to  humanity  so  far  ahead  that  they 
needed  only  to  reject  those  distortions  which  obscured 
the  teaching  revealed  by  Christ,  and  to  make  it  their 
own,  if  not  as  a  whole,  at  least  in  a  small  part  of  its 
whole  meaning  (but  yet  greater  than  what  the  church 
had  made  its  own).  Precisely  this  was  partly  done,  not 
only  by  the  reforms  of  Wyclif,  Huss,  Luther,  Calvin,  but 
also  by  the  whole  current  of  the  non-ecclesiastic  Chris- 
tianity, the  representatives  of  which,  in  the  first  times, 
were  the  Paulicians  and  Bogomils,  and  later  the  Wal- 
deuses  and  all  the  other  non-ecclesiastic  Christians,  the 
so-called  sectarians.  But  this  could  be  done,  and  was 
done,  only  by  the  poor,  the  men  not  in  power.  Only 
very  few  from  the  rich  and  powerful  classes,  like  Francis 
d'Assisi  and  others,  though  this  teaching  destroyed  their 
advantageous  position,  accepted  the  Christian  teaching  in 
all  its  significance.  But  the  majority  of  the  men  from 
the  higher  classes,  though  in  their  hearts  they  had  lost 
the  faith  in  the  church  doctrine,  were  unable  or  unwill- 
ing to  accept  the  Christian  teaching  because  the  essence 
of  the  Christian  world  conception  which  they  would  have 
to  accept,  iu  rejecting  the  church  faith,  was  the  teaching 
of  the  brotherhood  and  so  of  the  equality  of  men,  aud 
such  a  teaching  denied  their  privileges,  by  which   they 


192  WHAT    IS    ART  ? 

lived,  in  which  they  had  grown  up  and  had  been  edu- 
cated, and  to  which  they  were  used.  As  they,  in  the 
depth  of  their  hearts,  did  not  beheve  in  the  church  doc- 
trine which  had  outhved  its  age  and  no  longer  had  for 
them  a  true  meaning,  and  as  they  did  not  have  the 
strength  to  accept  the  true  Christianity,  the  men  of  these 
wealthy,  ruhug  classes,  the  Popes,  kings,  dukes,  and  all 
the  mighty  of  the  world,  were  left  without  any  rehgion 
whatever,  only  with  its  external  forms,  which  they  sup- 
ported, considering  this  not  only  advantageous,  but  also 
indispensable  for  themselves,  since  this  doctrine  justified 
those  privileges  which  they  enjoyed.  In  reahty  these 
men  did  not  believe  in  anything,  just  as  the  Eomans  of 
the  first  centuries  did  not  believe  in  anything.  At  the 
same  time  the  power  and  wealth  was  in  their  hands,  and 
it  is  these  men  who  encouraged  art  and  guided  it. 

Among  these  people  there  began  to  flourish  art,  which 
was  valued,  not  to  the  extent  to  which  it  expressed  the 
sentiments  which  arise  from  the  religious  consciousness  of 
men,  but  only  to  the  extent  to  which  it  was  beautiful ;  in 
other  words,  to  the  extent  to  which  it  afforded  enjoyment. 

Being  unable  to  believe  any  longer  in  the  church  re- 
ligion, since  its  lie  was  made  manifest,  and  being  unable 
to  accept  the  true  Christian  teaching,  which  rejected  their 
whole  lives,  these  wealthy  and  ruling  people,  who  were 
left  without  any  religious  conception  of  life,  involuntarily 
turned  to  that  pagan  world  conception  which  assumes  the 
meaning  of  life  to  lie  in  enjoyment.  And  there  took  place 
in  the  higher  classes  what  is  called  the  "  renascence  of 
sciences  and  arts,"  which  in  reahty  is  nothing  but  the 
rejection  of  all  religion,  and  even  the  recognition  of  its 
uselessness. 

The  ecclesiastic,  especially  the  CathoHc,  faith,  is  a 
connected  system  which  cannot  be  changed  or  mended 
without  destroying  it.  The  moment  there  arose  a  doubt 
as  to  the  infallibility  of  the  Popes,  —  and  this  doubt  did 


WHAT    IS    ART?  193 

at  that  time  arise  in  all  cultured  men,  —  there  inevitably 
arose  a  duubt  also  as  to  the  truth  of  the  Tradition.  And 
the  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  the  Tradition  destroyed  not 
only  Popery  and  Cathohcism,  but  also  the  whole  church 
faith,  with  all  its  dogmas,  with  the  divinity  of  Christ,  the 
resurrection,  the  Trinity,  and  destroyed  the  authority  of 
the  Scriptures,  because  the  Scriptures  were  recognized  as 
sacred  because  Tradition  taught  so. 

Thus  the  majority  of  the  men  of  the  higher  classes  of 
that  time,  even  the  Popes  and  clerical  persons,  in  reality 
did  not  believe  in  anything.  These  men  did  not  believe 
in  the  church  teaching,  because  they  saw  its  inadequacy  ; 
but  they  were  unable  to  recognize  the  .moral,  social  teach- 
ing of  Christ,  which  was  recognized  by  Francis  d'Assisi, 
Chelcicky,  and  a  few  others,  because  this  teaching  des- 
troyed their  pubhc  position.  And  so  these  men  were  left 
without  any  religious  world  conception.  And  having  no 
rehgious  world  conception,  these  men  could  have  no  stand- 
ard for  the  estimation  of  good  and  of  bad  art,  except  that 
of  enjoyment.  In  recognizing  as  the  standard  of  good- 
ness enjoyment,  that  is,  beauty,  the  men  of  the  highest 
classes  of  European  society  returned  in  their  conception 
of  art  to  the  rude  conception  of  the  original  Greeks,  which 
already  Plato  had  condemned.  And  the  theory  of  art 
was  formed  among  them  in  conformity  with  this  com- 
prehension among  them. 


VII. 

Ever  since  the  men  of  the  highest  classes  lost  their 
faith  iu  the  church  Christianity,  the  standard  of  what  is 
good  and  bad  in  art  became  beauty,  that  is,  the  enjoyment 
which  is  derived  from  art.  And  in  conformity  with  this 
view  on  art,  there  naturally  arose  among  the  higher  classes 
an  aesthetic  theory,  which  justified  such  a  comprehension, 
—  a  theory  according  to  which  the  aim  of  art  consists  in 
the  manifestation  of  beauty.  The  followers  of  the  esthetic 
theory  affirm,  in  confirmation  of  its  truth,  that  this  theory 
was  not  invented  by  them,  that  it  lies  in  the  essence 
of  things,  and  that  it  was  accepted  even  by  the  ancient 
Greeks.  But  this  assertion  is  quite  arbitrary  and  has  no 
other  foundation  than  this,  that  with  the  Greeks,  on 
account  of  the  low  stage  of  their  moral  ideal,  as  compared 
with  the  Christian  ideal,  the  concept  of  goodness  (t6  dyaOov) 
was  not  yet  sharply  distinguished  from  the  concept  of  the 
beautiful  (to  Ka\6v). 

The  highest  perfection  of  goodness,  which  not  only  does 
not  coincide  with  beauty,  but  for  the  most  part  is  opposed 
to  it,  which  the  Jews  knew  even  in  the  days  of  Isaiah,  and 
which  is  fully  expressed  in  Christianity,  was  altogether 
unknown  to  the  Greeks  ;  they  assumed  that  the  beautiful 
must  by  all  means  be  also  tlie  good.  It  is  true,  the 
advanced  thinkers,  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  felt  that 
goodness  may  not  coincide  with  beauty.  Socrates  directly 
subordinated  beauty  to  goodness ;  Plato,  in  order  to  unite 
the  two  concepts,  spoke  of  spiritual  beauty;  Aristotle 
demanded  of  art  a  moral  action  upon  men  (KaOapms),  but 

194 


WHAT   IS    ART  ?  195 

none  the  less  even  these  thinkers  were  unable  fully  to 
renounce  the  concept  that  beauty  and  goodness  coincide. 

And  so  they  began  in  the  language  of  that  time  to  use 
the  compound  word  KaXoKayaQia  (beauty  and  goodness), 
which  expressed  this  union. 

The  Greek  thinkers  apparently  were  beginning  to  ap- 
proach that  concept  of  goodness  which  is  expressed  in 
Buddhism  and  in  Christianity,  and  lost  themselves  in  the 
establishment  of  relations  of  goodness  and  beauty.  Plato's 
judgments  about  beauty  and  goodness  are  full  of  contra- 
dictions. This  very  confusion  of  ideas  the  men  of  the 
European  world,  who  had  lost  all  faith,  tried  to  raise  to 
a  law,  and  they  tried  to  prove  that  this  union  of  beauty 
with  goodness  lies  in  the  very  essence  of  the  matter,  that 
beauty  and  goodness  must  coincide,  that  the  word  and 
the  concept  of  KaXoKayaOia,  which  had  a  meaning  for  a 
Greek,  but  has  no  meaning  whatever  for  a  Christian, 
forms  the  highest  ideal  of  humanity.  On  this  misunder- 
standing was  built  the  new  science,  —  ai'sthetics.  In  order 
to  justify  this  new  science,  the  teaching  of  the  ancients 
about  art  was  so  interpreted  as  to  make  it  appear  that 
this  newly  invented  science,  aesthetics,  had  already  existed 
with  the  Greeks. 

In  reality,  the  reflections  of  the  ancients  on  art  do  not 
at  all  resemble  ours.  Thus,  B^nard,  in  his  books  on  the 
eesthetics  of  Aristotle,  says  quite  correctly,  "  Pour  qui  veut 
y  regarder  de  prfes,  la  th^orie  du  beau  et  celle  de  I'art  sont 
tout-k-fait  separ^s  dans  Aristote,  com  me  elles  le  sont  dans 
Platon  et  chez  leurs  successeurs."  ^ 

Indeed,  the  reflections  of  the  ancients  on  art  not  only 
fail  to  confirm  our  aesthetics,  but  rather  reject  its  teaching 
of  beauty.  And  yet  it  is  affirmed  in  all  aesthetics,  begin- 
ning with  Schasler  and  ending  with  Knight,  that  the 
science  of  the  beautiful,  aesthetics,  was  begun  by  the  an- 

1  B^nard,  V estMtigue  d' Aristote  et  de  ses  successeurs,  Paris,  1789, 


196  WHAT   IS   ART?. 

cients,  by  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  was  continued  in 
part  by  the  Epicureans  and  Stoics,  by  Seneca,  Plutarch, 
and  up  to  Plotiuus ;  but  that  by  some  unfortunate  acci- 
dent this  science  suddenly  disappeared  in  the  fourth 
century,  and  for  fifteen  hundred  years  was  absent  and 
was  regenerated,  only  after  an  interval  of  fifteen  hundred 
years,  in  Germany,  in  the  year  1750,  in  Baumgarten's 
teaching.^ 

After  Plotinus,  says  Schasler,  there  pass  fifteen  centu- 
ries, during  which  time  there  is  not  the  slightest  scientific 
interest  in  the  world  of  beauty  and  of  art.  These  fifteen 
hundred  years,  he  says,  are  lost  for  aesthetics  and  for  the 
development  of  the  scientific  mood  of  this  science. 

In  reality  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  science  of 
aesthetics,  the  science  of  what  is  beautiful,  has  never  dis- 
appeared and  never  could  have  disappeared,  because  it 
never  existed ;  what  did  exist  was  this,  that  the  Greeks, 
precisely  like  all  other  people,  always  and  everywhere 
regarded  art,  like  anything  else,  as  good  only  when  this 
art  served  goodness  (as  they  understood  goodness),  and 
bad  when  it  was  opposed  to  this  goodness.  But  the 
Greeks  themselves  were  so  little  developed  that  goodness 
and  beauty  seemed  to  them  to  coincide,  and  on  tbis  obso- 
lete world  conception  of  the  Greeks  is  based  the  science 
of  aesthetics,  invented  by  men  of  the  eighteenth  century 

1  "  Die  Liicke  von  fiinf  Jahrhunderten,  welche  zwischen  die  kunst- 
philosophischeu  Betrachtungen  des  Plato  und  Aristoteles  und  die 
des  Plotins  fallt,  kann  zwar  auffiillig  ersclieineu  ;  deunoch  kann  man 
eigentlicli  uicht  sagen,  dass  in  diesei'  Zwisclieuzeit  iiberhaupt  von 
astiietiscben  Dingen  nicht  die  Rede  gewesen,  oder  dass  gar  ein  volliger 
Mangel  an  Zusammenhang  zwischen  den  Kunstauschauimgen  des 
letztgenannten  Philosophen  und  denen  des  ersteren  existire.  Freilich 
wurde  die  von  Aristoteles  begriindete  Wissenschaft  in  Nichts  dadurch 
gefordert ;  immerhin  zeigte  sich  in  jener  Zwischenzeit  noch  ein 
gewisses  Interesse  fiir  asthetische  Fragen.  .  .  .  Diese  anderthalbtau- 
send  Jahre,  innerhalb  deren  der  Weltgeist  durch  die  mannigfachsten 
Kampfe  hindurch  zu  einer  vollig  neuen  Gestaltnng  des  Lebens  sich 
durcharbeitete,  sind  fiir  die  Aesthetik,  hinsichtlich  des  weiteren  Aus- 
baues  dieser  Wissenschaft,  verloren."     (Schasler,  p.  253.) 


WHAT    IS    ART?  197 

and  specially  worked  into  a  theory  by  Baumgarten.  The 
Greeks  never  had  any  science  of  aesthetics  (as  any  one  may 
become  convinced  who  will  read  B^nard's  beautiful  book 
on  Aristotle  and  his  followers,  and  Walter's  on  Plato). 

The  aesthetic  theories  and  the  name  of  the  science  itself 
arose  about  150  years  ago  among  the  wealthy  classes  of 
the  Christian  European  world,  and  simultaneously  among 
several  nations,  among  the  Italians,  the  Dutch,  the  French, 
the  English.  But  its  founder  and  establisher,  who  vested 
it  in  a  scientific,  theoretic  form,  was  Baumgarten. 

With  characteristically  German  external,  pedantic  cir- 
cumstantiality and  symmetricalness  he  invented  and  ex- 
pounded this  remarkable  theory,  and  nobody's  theory 
pleased  so  much  the  cultured  masses,  in  spite  of  its 
startling  baselessness,  or  was  accepted  with  such  readi- 
ness and  absence  of  critical  judgment.  This  theory  was 
so  much  to  the  taste  of  the  higher  classes  that,  in  spite 
of  its  complete  arbitrariness  and  the  insufficiency  of  its 
propositions,  it  is  repeated  by  the  learned  and  the  un- 
learned as  something  indubitable  and  a  matter  of  course. 

Hahent  S2ia  fata  lihdli  pro  capitc  lectoris,  and  even 
more  separate  theories  hahent  sua  fata  on  account  of  the 
condition  of  error  in  which  society  is,  amidst  which  and 
for  the  sake  of  which  these  theories  are  invented.  If  a 
theory  justifies  that  false  state  in  which  a  certain  part  of 
society  happens  to  be,  no  matter  how  unfounded  and  even 
obviously  false  a  theory  may  be,  it  is  accepted  and  be- 
comes the  faith  of  that  part  of  society.  Such,  for  example, 
is  the  famous  unfounded  theory  of  Malthus  about  the 
tendency  of  the  population  of  the  globe  to  increase  in  a 
geometric  progression,  while  the  means  of  subsistence 
increase  in  an  arithmetic  progression,  and  consequently 
about  the  overpopulation  of  the  globe ;  such  also  is  the 
theory  of  the  struggle  for  existence  and  of  natural  selec- 
tion, as  the  basis  of  human  prepress,  which  has  grown  up 
on  this  theory.     Such  also  is  at  present  Marx's  popular 


198  WHAT   IS   ART? 

theory  about  the  inevitableness  of  economic  progress, 
which  consists  in  the  absorption  of  all  private  production 
by  capitalism.  No  matter  how  unfounded  such  theories 
may  be  and  how  opposed  they  may  be  to  everything  which 
is  known  to  humanity  and  is  cognized  by  it ;  no  matter 
how  immoral  they  may  be,  these  theories  are  taken  on 
faith  without  criticism,  and  are  preached  with  impassioned 
bias,  sometimes  for  centuries,  until  the  conditions  are 
destroyed  which  they  justify,  or  the  insipidity  of  the 
theories  preached  becomes  too  obvious.  Such  is  the  re- 
markable theory  of  the  Baumgarteuian  triad,  Goodness, 
Beauty,  and  Truth,  from  which  it  turns  out  that  the  best 
that  the  art  of  the  nations  who  have  lived  a  Christian  life 
for  eighteen  hundred  years  can  do  consists  in  choosing  for 
the  ideal  of  its  life  the  one  which  two  thousand  years  ago 
was  held  by  a  half-savage  slave-holding  little  people,  which 
very  well  represented  the  nudity  of  the  human  body  and 
built  handsome  buildings.  All  these  inconsistencies  are 
not  observed  by  any  one.  Learned  men  write  long,  hazy 
treatises  on  beautv  as  one  of  the  members  of  the  aesthetic 
triad  of  beauty,  truth,  and  goodness.  "  Das  Schoue,  das 
Wahre,  das  Gute,"  "  Le  Beau,  le  Vrai,  le  Bon,"  with  capi- 
tal letters,  is  repeated  by  philosophers,  and  iestheticians, 
and  artists,  and  private  people,  and  novelists,  and  writers 
of  feuilletons,  and  it  seems  to  all  of  them  that,  in  pro- 
nouncing these  sacramental  words,  they  are  speaking  of 
something  definite  and  firmly  established,  —  something 
on  which  our  judgments  may  be  based.  In  reality  these 
words  not  only  have  no  definite  meaning,  but  also  are  in 
the  way  of  ascribing  any  definite  meaning  to  the  existing 
art,  and  are  needed  only  in  order  to  justify  that  false 
meaning  which  we  ascribe  to  the  art  which  transmits  all 
kinds  of  sensations,  so  long  as  these  sensations  afford  us 
pleasure.  {\ 

We  need  but  for  a  tim©:  renounce  the  habit  of  consider- 
ing this  triad  as  true  as  the  religious  Trinity,  and  ask 


WHAT    IS   AET?  199 

ourselves  what  it  is  we  all  understand  by  the  three  words 
which  form  this  triad,  in  order  to  convince  ourselves 
beyond  any  doubt  of  the  complete  fantasticalness  of  the 
union  of  these  three  words  and  concepts,  absolutely 
different  and,  above  all,  incommensurable  in  meaning, 
into  one. 

Goodness,  beauty,  and  truth  are  placed  on  one  height, 
and  all  these  three  concepts  are  acknowledged  to  be 
fundamental  and  metaphysical.  But  in  reality  there  is 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

Goodness  is  the  eternal,  highest  purpose  of  our  life. 
No  matter  how  we  may  understand  goodness,  our  life  is 
nothing  but  a  striving  after  goodness,  that  is,  toward  God. 

Goodness  is  actually  a  fundamental  concept  which 
metaphysically  forms  the  essence  of  our  consciousness,  a 
concept  which  is  not  definable  by  reason. 

Goodness  is  what  cannot  be  defined  by  anything,  but 
which  defines  everything  else. 

But  beauty,  if  we  are  not  satisfied  with  words,  but  speak 
of  what  we  comprehend,  —  beauty  is  nothing  but  what 
pleases  us. 

The  concept  of  beauty  not  only  does  not  coincide  with 
goodness,  but  is  rather  opposed  to  it,  since  goodness  for 
the  most  part  coincides  with  victory  over  bias,  while 
beauty  is  the  foundation  of  all  our  bias. 

The  more  we  abandon  ourselves  to  beauty,  the  more  do 
we  depart  from  goodness.  I  know  that  in  reply  to  this  we 
are  always  told  that  beauty  may  be  moral  and  spiritual, 
but  that  is  only  a  play  of  words,  because  by  moral  or 
spiritual  beauty  nothing  but  goodness  is  meant.  Spiritual 
beauty,  or  goodness,  for  the  most  part,  not  only  does  not 
coincide  with  what  we  generally  understand  under  beauty, 
but  is  even  opposed  to  it. 

But  as  to  truth,  we  can  still  less  ascribe  to  this  member 
of  the  imaginary  triad  either  unity  with  goodness  and 
beauty,  or  even  any  independent  existence. 


200  WHAT   IS   ART? 

What  we  call  truth  is  only  a  correspondence  of  the 
expression  or  definition  of  the  subject  with  its  essence,  or 
with  all  men's  universal  comprehension  of  the  subject. 
Now  what  is  there  in  common  between  the  concepts  of 
beauty  and  truth  on  the  one  side,  and  of  goodness  on  the 
other  ? 

The  concepts  of  beauty  and  truth  are  not  only  not 
equal  to  that  of  goodness,  not  only  do  not  form  one  essence 
with  goodness,  but  even  do  not  coincide  with  it. 

Truth  is  the  correspondence  of  the  expression  with  the 
essence  of  the  subject,  and  so  is  one  of  the  means  for 
the  attainment  of  goodness,  but  truth  is  in  itself  neither 
goodness  nor  beauty,  and  does  not  even  coincide  with 
them. 

Thus,  for  example,  Socrates  and  Pascal,  and  many 
others,  considered  the  cognition  of  truth  about  useless 
things  incompatible  with  goodness.  But  with  beauty 
truth  has  even  nothing  in  common,  and  is,  for  the  most 
part,  opposed  to  it,  because  truth,  which  generally  dispels 
deception,  destroys  illusion,  the  chief  condition  of  beauty. 

And  so  the  arbitrary  union  of  these  three  incommen- 
surable and  mutually  alien  conceptions  into  one  has 
served  as  the  foundation  of  that  remarkable  theory  ac- 
cording to  which  there  was  completely  wiped  out  the 
distinction  between  good  art,  which  conveys  good  sensa- 
tions, and  bad  art,  which  conveys  evil  sensations ;  and  one 
of  the  lowest  manifestations  of  art,  the  art  for  enjoyment 
only, —  against  which  all  the  teachers  of  humanity  have 
warned  men,  —  began  to  be  regarded  as  the  very  highest 
art.  And  art  did  not  become  that  important  work  which 
it  was  destined  to  be,  but  an  idle  amusement  for  idle 
people. 


VIII. 

But  if  art  is  a  human  activity  which  has  for  its  aim 
the  conveyance  to  men  of  those  highest  and  best  sensa- 
tions which  men  have  attained,  how  could  it  have  happened 
that  humanity  shouki  have  passed  a  certain,  sufficiently 
long  period  of  its  life,  —  ever  since  people  stopped  believ- 
ing in  the  church  teaching  and  up  to  our  time,  —  without 
this  important  activity,  and  should  have  been  contented 
in  its  place  with  the  insignificant  activity  of  the  art  which 
affords  only  enjoyment  ? 

In  order  to  answer  this  question  it  is  necessary  first  of 
all  to  correct  a  customary  error  which  men  make  when 
they  ascribe  to  our  art  the  significance  of  a  true  universal 
art.  We  are  so  used  naively  to  regard  not  only  the 
Caucasian  race  as  the  very  best  race  of  men,  but  even 
only  the  Anglo-Saxon,  if  we  are  Englishmen  or  Ameri- 
cans, and  the  Germanic,  if  we  are  Germans,  and  the  Gallo- 
Latin,  if  we  are  Frenchmen,  and  the  Slavic,  if  we  are 
Eussians,  that  we,  in  speaking  of  our  art,  are  fully  con- 
vinced that  our  art  is  not  only  true,  but  even  the  best  and 
only  art,  just  as  the  Bible  was  regarded  as  the  only  book. 
But  our  art  is  not  only  not  the  only  art,  but  is  not  even 
the  art  of  the  whole  Christian  humanity,  but  only  the  art 
of  a  very  small  division  of  this  part  of  humanity.  It  was 
possible  to  talk  of  a  national  —  Jewish,  Greek,  Egyptian 
—  art,  and  now  it  is  possible  to  speak  of  Chinese,  Japa- 
nese, Hindoo  art,  which  is  common  to  the  whole  nation. 
Such  art,  common  to  the  whole  people,  existed  in  Eussia 
before  Peter,  and  such  also  existed  in  the  European  socie- 
ties of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries ;  but  from 

201 


202  WHAT    IS    ART? 

the  time  that  the  men  of  the  higher  classes  of  European 
society,  having  lost  the  faith  in  the  church  teaching,  did 
not  accept  true  Christianity,  and  remained  without  any 
faith,  it  is  impossible  to  speak  of  the  art  of  the  higher 
classes  of  the  Christian  nations,  meaning  by  it  all  art. 
Ever  since  the  higher  classes  of  the  Christian  nations  lost 
their  faith  in  the  ecclesiastic  Christianity,  the  art  of  the 
higher  classes  separated  from  the  art  of  the  whole  people, 
and  there  grew  up  two  arts  :  popular  art  and  lordly  art. 
And  so  the  answer  to  the  question  as  to  how  it  could  have 
happened  that  humanity  should  have  passed  a  certain 
period  of  time  without  true  art,  substituting  for  it  an  art 
which  serves  only  for  enjoyment,  consists  in  this,  that  it 
is  not  all  humanity,  nor  even  a  considerable  part  of  it,  but 
only  the  higher  .classes  of  the  Christian  European  society, 
that  has  hved  without  true  art,  and  that,  too,  for  but 
a  comparatively  short  period  of  time. 

As  the  consequence  of  this  absence  of  true  art  there 
took  place  what  could  not  help  but  take  place,  —  the  cor- 
ruption of  that  class  which  made  use  of  this  other  art. 
All  the  complicated,  incomprehensible  theories  of  art,  all 
the  fallacious  and  contradictory  judgments  about  it,  and, 
above  all  else,  that  self-confident  stagnation  of  our  art  on 
this  false  path,  —  all  that  is  due  to  this  assertion,  which 
has  entered  into  universal  use  and  is  accepted  as  un- 
doubted truth,  but  is  striking  on  account  of  its  obvious 
fallacy,  that  the  art  of  our  higher  classes  is  all  art, 
the  true  and  exclusively  universal  art.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  this  assertion,  which  is  quite  identical  with  the 
assertions  of  religious  people  of  various  denominations  who 
think  that  their  religion  is  the  one  true  religion,  is  quite 
arbitrary  and  obviously  incorrect,  it  is  calmly  repeated  by 
all  tlie  men  of  our  circle,  with  full  confidence  in  its 
infallibility. 

The  art  which  we  possess  is  all  the  art,  the  true, 
the   one  art,  but  at  the  same  time  not  only  two-thirds 


WHAT   IS    ART?  203 

of  the  human  race,  all  the  nations  of  Asia,  of  Africa,  hve 
and  die  without  Ivuowing  this  one,  higher  art,  but,  more- 
over, in  our  Christian  society  hardly  one  hundredth  part 
of  the  men  make  use  of  that  art  which  we  call  all  art; 
the  other  ninety-nine  hundredths  of  our  own  European  na- 
tions live  and  die  for  generations  in  tense  labour,  without 
ever  tasting  of  this  art,  which,  besides,  is  such  that,  even 
if  they  were  able  to  make  use  of  it,  they  would  not  under- 
stand anything  about  it.  We,  according  to  the  assthetics 
professed  by  us,  acknowledge  that  art  is  either  one  of  the 
highest  manifestations  of  the  Idea,  God,  Beauty,  or 
the  highest  spiritual  enjoyment ;  besides,  we  acknowledge 
that  all  men  have  equal  rights,  if  not  to  material,  at  least 
to  spiritual  goods,  while  in  the  meantime  ninety-nine  hun- 
dredths of  our  European  people  live  and  die  generation  after 
generation  in  tense  labour,  which  is  necessary  for  the  pro- 
duction of  our  art,  without  making  use  of  it,  and  yet  we 
calmly  assert  that  the  art  which  w^e  produced  is  real,  true, 
one,  all  art. 

In  reply  to  the  statement  that  if  our  art  is  true  art,  all 
the  people  ought  to  make  use  of  it,  we  generally  get  the 
reply  that  if  not  all  men  at  present  enjoy  the  existing  art, 
it  is  not  the  fault  of  art,  but  of  the  false  structure  of 
society  ;  that  it  is  possible  to  imagine  for  the  future  that 
physical  labour  will  be  partly  relegated  to  machines  and 
partly  lightened  by  its  regular  distribution,  and  that  the 
labour  for  the  production  of  art  will  alternate ;  that  there 
is  no  need  for  some  to  sit  under  the  stage  all  the  time, 
moving  the  scenery,  to  raise  machines,  to  work  the  piano 
and  French  horns,  and  to  set  up  and  print  books,  but  that 
those  who  do  all  this  will  be  able  to  work  a  small  number 
of  hours  a  day,  and  in  their  leisure  to  enjoy  all  the  bene- 
fits of  art. 

Thus  say  the  defenders  of  our  exclusive  art,  but  I  think 
that  they  themselves  do  not  believe  in  what  they  say  be- 
cause they  cannot  know  that  our  refined  art  could  have 


204  WHAT    IS    ART? 

arisen  on  nothing  but  the  work  of  the  popular  masses,  and 
can  be  continued  only  so  long  as  there  shall  be  this  slav- 
ery, and  also  this,  that  only  under  conditions  of  the  tense 
labour  of  the  workingmen,  the  specialists  —  authors,  mu- 
sicians, dancers,  actors  —  can  reach  that  refined  degree  of 
perfection,  which  they  do  reach,  and  by  which  they  are 
able  to  produce  their  refined  works  of  art,  and  that  only 
under  these  conditions  can  there  be  a  refined  pubHc  which 
appreciates  these  productions.  Free  the  slaves  from  capi- 
tal, and  it  will  be  impossible  to  produce  this  refined  art. 

But  even  if  we  admit  the  inadmissible,  that  there  can 
be  found  methods  with  which  art  —  that  which  with  us 
is  considered  to  be  art  —  will  be  enjoyed  by  all  the  peo- 
ple, there  presents  itself  another  consideration,  according 
to  wliich  the  modern  art  cannot  be  all  art,  and  that  is  that 
it  is  entirely  incomprehensible  to  the  people.  Formerly 
they  used  to  write  poetical  productions  in  the  Latin  lan- 
guage ;  but  the  modern  productions  of  art  are  as  incom- 
prehensible to  the  people  as  if  they  were  written  in 
Sanscrit.  In  reply  to  this  we  are  generally  told  that  if 
the  people  do  not  now  understand  this  our  art,  it  only 
proves  their  insufficient  development,  and  that  precisely 
the  same  happened  with  every  new  step  in  art.  At  first 
it  was  not  understood,  and  later  the  people  got  used  to  it. 

"  The  same  will  happen  with  the  modern  art :  it  will  be 
comprehensible  when  the  whole  people  shall  be  as  cultured 
as  we  are,  we,  the  men  of  the  higher  classes,  who  produce 
art,"  say  the  defenders  of  our  art.  But  this  assertion  is 
obviously  even  more  incorrect  than  the  first,  because  we 
know  that  the  majorit}'  of  the  products  of  art  of  the 
higher  classes,  which,  like  all  kinds  of  odes,  epics,  dramas, 
cantatas,  pastorales,  pictures,  and  so  forth,  delighted  the 
men  of  the  higher  classes  of  their  time,  were  later  never 
understood,  nor  appreciated  by  the  large  masses,  and  re- 
mained, as  they  had  been,  the  amusement  of  the  rich  of 
that  time,  and  had  a  meaning  only  for  them ;  from  this 


WHAT    IS     ART?  205 

we  may  conclude  that  the  same  will  happen  with  our 
art.  But  when,  in  proof  of  the  fact  that  the  masses  will 
in  time  understand  our  art,  they  adduce  that  certain  pro- 
ductions of  the  so-called  classical  poetry,  music,  art,  which 
formerly  did  not  please  the  masses,  later,  when  they  are 
offered  to  the  masses  on  all  sides,  begin  to  please  them, 
this  proves  only  that  the  crowd,  especially  the  city  crowd, 
which  is  half-corrupted,  could  always  be  easily  taught,  by 
having  its  taste  corrupted,  any  art  you  please.  Besides, 
this  art  is  not  produced  by  this  crowd  of  people,  and  is 
not  chosen  by  it,  but  is  forcibly  obtruded  upon  it  in  those 
places  in  which  art  is  accessible  to  it. 

For  the  great  majority  of  the  whole  labouring  class  our 
art,  inaccessible  to  them  on  account  of  its  costliness,  is 
also  foreign  to  them  on  account  of  its  contents  themselves^ 
siuce  it  conveys  the  sensations  of  people  who  are  removed 
from  the  conditions  of  a  life  of  labour,  which  are  peculiar 
to  the  great  majority  of  humanity.  What  forms  an  en- 
joyment for  a  man  of  the  wealthy  classes  is,  as  an  enjoy- 
ment, incomprehensible  to  the  workingman,  and  does  not 
evoke  any  sensation  in  him,  or  evokes  sensations  which 
are  the  very  opposite  to  those  which  they  evoke  in  an  idle 
and  satiated  man.  Thus,  for  example,  the  feelings  of  hon- 
our, patriotism,  enamourment,  which  form  the  chief  con- 
tents of  modern  art,  evoke  in  a  workingman  nothing  but 
perplexity  and  contempt,  or  indignation.  Thus,  even  if 
the  majority  of  the  workingmen  were  given  the  chance- 
during  the  time  which  is  free  from  labour,  to  see,  read, 
hear,  as  is  indeed  partly  the  case  in  the  cities,  in  picture- 
galleries,  popular  concerts,  books,  everything  which  forms 
the  flower  of  modern  art,  the  workingmen,  in  so  far  as 
they  are  working  people  and  have  not  yet  partly  passed 
into  the  class  of  people  corrupted  by  idleness,  would 
understand  nothing  of  our  refined  art,  and  if  they  did,  the 
greater  part  of  what  they  understood  would  not  only  fail 
to  elevate  their  souls,  but  would  even  corrupt  them. 


206  WHAT   IS    AET? 

Thus  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatsoever  for  thinking 
and  sincere  men  that  the  art  of  the  higher  classes  can 
never  become  t)ie  art  of  the  whole  people  ;  and  so,  if  art 
is  an  important  matter,  a  spiritual  good,  indispensable  for 
all  men,  like  religion  (as  the  devotees  of  art  are  fond  of 
saying),  it  must  be  accessible  to  all  men.  And  if  it  can- 
not become  the  art  of  the  whole  people,  one  of  two  things 
is  true :  either  art  is  not  that  important  matter  which  it 
is  claimed  to  be,  or  the  art  which  we  call  art  is  not  this 
important  matter. 

This  dilemma  is  not  capable  of  solution,  and  so  clever 
and  immoral  men  boldly  solve  it  by  denying  one  side  of 
it,  namely,  the  right  of  the  popular  masses  to  enjoy  art. 
These  men  express  outright  what  is  lying  in  the  essence 
of  the  matter,  namely  this,  that  only  the  "  schtine  Geis- 
ter,"  the  chosen  ones,  as  the  Romanticists  called  them,  or 
the  "  Uebermenschen,"  as  the  followers  of  Nietzsche  call 
them,  may  be  participants  and  enjoyers  of  what,  according 
to  their  conception,  is  highly  beautiful,  that  is,  of  the  high- 
est enjoyment  of  art ;  but  all  the  others,  the  common 
herd,  which  is  incapable  of  experiencing  these  enjoyments, 
must  minister  to  the  high  enjoyments  of  this  higher  breed 
of  men.  The  men  who  express  such  views  are  at  least 
not  feigning  and  do  not  wish  to  unite  what  cannot  be 
united,  and  admit  outright  that  which  is,  namely,  that  our 
art  is  only  the  art  of  the  higher  classes.  .  Thus,  in  reality, 
art  has  been  understood  by  all  men  who  in  our  society 
busy  themselves  with  art. 


IX. 

The  unbelief  of  the  higher  classes  of  the  European 
world  has  had  this  effect,  that  in  place  of  that  activity  of 
art  which  had  for  its  aim  the  conveyance  of  those  higher 
sensations  which  result  from  the  religious  consciousness 
attained  by  humanity,  there  has  come  an  activity  which 
has  for  its  aim  the  bestowal  of  the  greatest  enjoyment  to 
a  certain  society  of  men.  And  from  the  whole  enormous 
mass  of  art  there  was  segregated  and  began  to  be  called 
art  what  afforded  enjoyment  to  the  men  of  a  certain 
circle. 

Not  to  speak  of  those  moral  consequences  which  such 
a  segregation  from  the  whole  sphere  of  art  and  the  recog- 
nition as  important  art  of  what  did  not  deserve  that  valu- 
ation have  had  for  European  society,  this  distortion  of  art 
weakened  and  reduced  almost  to  annihilation  art  itself. 
The  first  consequence  of  it  was  this,  that  art  was  deprived 
of  its  characteristic,  infinitely  varied,  and  profoundly  re- 
ligious contents.  The  second  consequence  was  this,  that, 
having  in  view  nothing  but  a  small  circle  of  men,  it  lost 
the  beauty  of  form,  and  became  artificial  and  obscure  ;  and 
the  third,  the  chief  consequence,  was,  that  it  ceased  being 
sincere  and  became  fictitious  and  reasoned. 

The  first  consequence  —  the  impoverishment  of  con- 
tents —  was  achieved  for  the  reason  that  a  true  product 
of  art  is  only  that  which  conveys  new  sensations,  such  as 
have  not  yet  been  experienced  by  men.  As  a  product  of 
thought  is  a  product  of  thought  only  when  it  communi- 
cates new  considerations  and  thoughts,  and  does  not  repeat 
what  is  known,  even  so  a  product  of  art  is  a  product  of 

207 


208  WHAT   IS   ART? 

art  only  when  it  introduces  a  new  sensation  (no  matter 
how  insignificant  it  may  be)  into  the  habitual  course  of 
human  life.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  products  of  art 
are  so  strongly  felt  by  children  and  youths,  when  they 
for  the  first  time  afford  them  sensations  which  they  had 
not  experienced  before. 

An  entirely  new,  never  before  expressed  sensation  acts 
with  the  same  force  upon  grown  people.  The  art  of  the 
higher  classes  has  deprived  itself  of  this  source  of  sensa- 
tions, by  valuing  the  sensations  not  in  correspondence  w4th 
the  religious  consciousness,  but  according  to  the  degree  of 
enjoyment  which  they  afford.  There  is  nothing  more  anti- 
quated and  trite  than  enjoyment,  and  nothing  more  new 
than  sensations  which  arise  on  the  religious  consciousness 
of  a  certain  time.  Nor  can  it  he  otherwise :  man's  enjoy- 
ment has  a  limit  which  is  put  to  it  by  his  nature ;  but 
the  forward  movement  of  humanity,  that  which  is  ex- 
pressed by  the  religious  consciousness,  has  no  limitation. 
With  every  step  in  advance  which  liumanity  makes,  ^ — - 
and  these  steps  are  achieved  through  an  ever  greater  and 
greater  elucidation  of  the  religious  consciousness,  —  men 
experience  all  the  time  new  sensations.  And  so  only  on 
the  basis  of  religious  consciousness,  which  shows  the 
highest  degree  of  men's  comprehension  of  life  at  a  certain 
period,  can  there  arise  new  sensations,  such  as  have  never 
before  been  experienced  by  men.  From  the  religious  con- 
sciousness of  the  ancient  Greek  there  resulted  actually 
new  and  important  and  infinitely  varied  sensations  for 
the  Greeks,  which  were  expressed  by  Homer  and  by  the 
tragic  authors.  The  same  was  true  of  the  Jew,  who  rose 
to  the  religious  consciousness  of  monotheism.  From  this 
consciousness  resulted  all  those  new  and  important  sensa- 
tions which  were  expressed  by  the  prophets.  The  same 
was  true  of  the  man  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who  believed 
in  the  ecclesiastic  commune  and  the  celestial  hierarchy  ; 
and  the  same  is  true  of  the  man  of  our  time,  who  has 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  209 

attained  to  the  religious  consciousDess  of  true  Christianity, 
—  tlic  cousciousuess  of  the  brotherhood  of  men. 

The  diversity  of  feelings  which  result  from  the  religious 
consciousness  is  infinite,  and  they  are  all  new,  because  the 
religious  consciousness  is  nothing  but  an  indication  of  a 
new  relation  of  man  to  the  world  in  the  process  of  crea- 
tion, whereas  the  sensations  which  arise  from  the  desire 
to  enjoy  oneself  are  not  only  limited,  but  were  long  ago 
explored  and  expressed.  And  so  the  unbelief  of  our  higher 
European  classes  has  led  them  to  an  art  which  is  exceed- 
ingly poor  in  contents. 

The  impoverishment  of  the  contents  of  the  art  of  the 
higher  classes  has  increased  even  through  this,  that, 
ceasing  to  be  religious,  the  art  has  ceased  to  be  national, 
and  so  has  still  more  diminished  the  circle  of  sensations 
which  it  has  conveyed,  since  the  circle  of  sensations  which 
the  ruling  people,  the  rich  who  do  not  know  the  labour  of 
supporting  hfe,  experience  is  much  smaller,  poorer,  and 
more  insignificant  than  that  of  the  sensations  character- 
istic  of  the  labouring  people. 

The  men  of  our  circle,  the  ffistheticians,  generally  think 
and  say  the  opposite.  I  remember  how  the  author  Gon- 
charov,  a  clever,  cultured,  but  absolutely  urban  man,  an 
festlietician,  told  me  that  after  Turg^nev's  Memoirs  of  a 
Hunter  there  was  nothing  left  to  write  about  from  the 
life  of  the  people.  Everything  was  exhausted.  The  life 
of  the  labouring  people  seemed  to  him  so  simple  that  after 
Turgenev's  popular  tales  there  was  nothiug  left  to  describe 
from  it.  But  the  life  of  the  wealthy  people,  with  its  enam- 
ourmeut  and  self-discontent,  seemed  to  him  to  be  full  of 
endless  contents.  One  hero  kissed  his  lady's  palm,  another 
her  elbow,  a  third  kissed  a  lady  in  some  other  way.  One 
pines  away  from  idleness,  another,  because  he  is  not  loved. 
And  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  this  sphere  there  was  no 
end  to  the  variety.  And  this  opinion,  that  the  life  of 
the  labouring  classes  is  poor  in  contents,  while  our  life, 


210  WHAT    IS    ART? 

that  of  idle  men,  is  full  of  interest,  is  shared  by  many 
people  of  our  circle.  The  life  of  the  workingman,  with 
its  endlessly  varied  forms  of  labour  and  its  perils  under- 
ground and  on  the  sea,  which  are  connected  with  it,  with 
his  travels,  with  his  intercourse  with  masters,  the  au- 
thorities, companions,  and  men  of  other  religions  and 
nationalities,  with  his  struggle  with  Nature  and  wild 
animals,  with  his  relations  to  domestic  animals,  with  his 
work  in  the  forest,  the  steppe,  the  field,  the  garden,  with 
his  relations  to  his  wife  and  his  children,  not  only  as  near 
and  beloved  people,  but  also  as  colabourers,  helpers,  and 
substitutes  in  work,  with  his  relations  to  all  the  economic 
questions,  not  as  subjects  of  sophistry  and  ambition,  but 
as  questions  of  life  for  himself  and  his  family,  with  his 
pride  of  contentment  and  service  of  men,  with  his  enjoy- 
ments of  rest,  with  all  these  interests  permeated  by  the 
religious  relation  to  these  phenomena,  —  appears  to  us, 
who  have  not  these  interests  and  no  religious  compre- 
hension, as  monotonous  in  comparison  with  those  petty 
enjoyments,  insignificant  cares  of  our  hfe,  not  of  labour, 
nor  of  creation,  but  of  exploiting  and  destroying  that 
which  others  have  done  for  us.  We  think  that  the  sensa- 
tions which  are  experienced  by  the  men  of  our  time  and 
circle  are  very  important  and  varied,  whereas,  in  reality, 
nearly  all  the  sensations  of  the  men  of  our  circle  reduce 
themselves  to  three  very  insignificant  and  uncomplicated 
sensations,  —  to  the  sensation  of  pride,  of  sexual  lust, 
and  of  the  dejection  of  spirits.  These  three  sensations 
and  their  ramifications  form  almost  the  exclusive  con- 
tents of  the  art  of  the  wealthy  classes. 

Formerly,  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  segregation  of 
the  exclusive  art  of  the  higher  classes  from  popular  art,  the 
sentiment  of  pride  was  the  chief  contents  of  art.  Thus  it 
was  during  the  time  of  the  renascence  and  after  it,  when 
the  chief  subject  of  the  products  of  art  was  the  laudation 
of  the  mighty,  —  the  Popes,  the  kings,  the  dukes.     They 


WHAT   IS   ART?  211 

wrote  madrigals,  which  lauded  the  mighty,  cantatas, 
hymns ;  they  painted  their  portraits  and  sculptured  their 
statues  in  all  kinds  of  forms  which  glorified  them.  Then 
art  began  more  and  more  to  be  invaded  by  the  element  of 
sexual  lust,  which  now  became  an  indispensable  condition 
of  every  production  of  the  art  of  the  wealthy  classes  (with 
exceedingly  few  exceptions,  and  in  novels  and  dramas 
without  exception). 

Later  on,  a  third  sensation,  which  forms  the  contents  of 
the  art  of  the  wealthy  classes,  namely,  the  sensation 
of  despondency,  entered  among  the  number  of  sensations 
expressed  by  art.  This  sensation  was  in  the  beginning  of 
this  century  expressed  only  by  exclusive  men,  Byron, 
Leopardi,  then  Heine,  but  of  late  it  has  become  fashion- 
able and  is  being  expressed  by  the  coarsest  and  commonest 
of  men.  The  French  critic  Doumic  says  quite  correctly 
that  the  chief  character  of  the  productions  of  the  new 
writers,  "  c'est  la  lassitude  de  vivre,  le  m^pris  de  I'^poque 
pr^sente,  le  regret  d'un  autre  temps  aperQU  a  travers 
I'illusion  de  I'art,  le  gout  du  paradoxe,  le  besoin  de  se 
singulariser,  une  aspiration  de  raffin^s  vers  la  simplicity, 
I'adoration  enfantine  du  merveilleux,  la  st^duction  mala- 
dive  de  la  reverie,  I'ebranlement  des  nerfs,  surtout  I'appel 
exasp^r^  de  la  sensuaht^  "  {Les  jetmes,  by  Een^  Doumic). 
And,  indeed,  of  these  three  sensations,  sensuality,  as  the 
lowest  of  sensations,  accessible  not  only  to  men,  but  also 
to  all  animals,  forms  the  chief  subject  of  all  the  produc- 
tions of  art  of  modern  times. 

From  Boccaccio  to  Marcel  Provost,  all  the  novels  and 
poetic  productions  are  sure  to  express  the  sensations  of 
sexual  love  in  its  various  forms.  Adultery  is  not  only 
the  favourite,  but  even  the  only  theme  of  all  novels.  A 
performance  is  not  a  performance  if  in  it  there  do  not, 
under  some  pretext,  appear  women  who  are  nude  above  or 
below.  Romances,  songs,  —  all  these  are  expressions  of 
lust  in  various  stages  of  poetization. 


212  WHAT   IS   ART? 

The  majority  of  the  pictures  of  the  French  artists 
represent  feminine  nudity  in  its  various  forms.  In  mod- 
ern French  hterature  there  is  hardly  a  page  or  a  poem 
in  which  tliere  is  not  a  description  of  nudity,  and  in 
which  the  fond  concept  and  word  "  nu "  is  not  used  at 
least  twice.  There  is  a  writer,  Een^  de  Gourmont,  who 
is  considered  talented,  and  whose  works  are  printed.  In 
order  to  have  an  idea  about  the  modern  authors,  I  read 
his  novel,  Les  chevaux  de  Diomede.  It  is  through  and 
through  a  detailed  description  of  sexual  intercourses 
which  a  certain  gentleman  had  with  a  number  of  women. 
There  is  not  a  page  without  descriptions  that  fan  lust. 
The  same  is  true  of  a  book  which  had  success,  by  Pierre 
Louis,  Aphrodite  ;  the  same  —  of  a  book  which  lately  fell 
into  my  hands,  by  Huysmans,  Certains,  which  was  to  be 
a  criticism  of  painters ;  the  same,  with  very  rare  excep- 
tions, of  all  French  novels.  They  are  all  productions  of 
people  suffering  from  an  erotic  mania.  These  men  are 
evidently  convinced  that,  since  their  whole  life  is,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  morbid  condition,  centred  on  expatiating 
on  sexual  abominations,  the  whole  life  of  the  world  is 
centred  on  the  same.  And  it  is  these  men  who  are  suffer- 
ing from  the  erotic  mania  that  the  whole  artistic  world  of 
Europe  and  of  America  is  imitating. 

Thus,  in  consequence  of  the  unbelief  and  the  exclusive- 
ness  of  the  life  of  the  wealthy  classes,  the  art  of  these 
classes  has  become  impoverished  in  contents  and  has  all 
reduced  itself  to  the  expression  of  the  sensations  of  vanity, 
of  despondency,  and,  above  all,  of  sexual  lust. 


X. 

In  consequence  of  the  unbelief  of  the  higher  classes, 
the  art  of  these  men  has  become  poor  in  contents.  Be- 
sides, becoming  more  and  more  exclusive,  it  has  at  the 
same  time  become  more  and  more  complex,  artificial,  and 
obscure. 

When  a  national  artist,  —  such  as  were  the  Greek 
artists  and  the  Jewish  prophets,  —  composed  his  produc- 
tion, he  naturally  tried  to  say  what  he  had  to  say,  so  that 
his  production  might  be  understood  by  all  men.  But 
when  the  artist  composed  for  a  small  circle  of  men,  who 
were  under  exclusive  conditions,  or  even  for  one  person 
and  his  courtiers,  for  the  Pope,  the  cardinal,  the  king,  the 
duke,  the  queen,  the  king's  paramour,  he  naturally  had 
nothing  else  in  view  but  producing  an  effect  upon  these 
men  he  knew,  who  lived  under  definite  conditions  with 
which  he  was  acquainted.  This  easier  method  of  evoking 
sensations  involuntarily  drew  the  artist  to  expressing 
himself  in  hints  which  were  obscure  to  all  and  compre- 
hensible only  to  the  initiated.  In  the  first  place,  in  such 
a  way  it  was  possible  to  say  more,  and  in  the  second, 
such  a  mode  of  expression  included  a  certain  charm  of 
haziness  for  the  initiated.  This  method  of  expression, 
which  is  shown  in  euphemism,  in  mythological  and  his- 
torical allusions,  has  entered  more  and  more  into  use,  and 
of  late  has  reached  what  seems  to  be  the  extreme  limits 
in  the  art  of  so-called  decadence.  Of  late,  it  is  not  only 
the  haziness,  enigmaticaluess,  obscurity,  and  incompre- 
hensibleness  for  the  masses,  but  also  the  inexactness, 
indefiniteness,  and  absence  of  style  that  are  regarded  as 

213 


214  WHAT   IS   ART? 

an  advantage  and  a  condition  of  the  poetic  quality  of  the 
subjects  of  art. 

Th^ophile  Gautier,  in  his  introduction  to  the  famous 
Fleurs  du  Mai,  says  that  Baudelaire  did  his  best  to  drive 
out  of  poetry  eloquence,  passion,  and  truth,  too  well  repre- 
sented, "  r^loquence,  la  passion,  et  la  v^rit^  calqu^e  trop 
exactement." 

And  Baudelaire  not  only  gave  utterance  to  this,  but 
also  proved  it  by  his  verses,  and  still  more  by  his  prose 
in  his  Petits  i^oemes  en  prose,  the  meaning  of  which  one 
has  to  guess  like  rebuses,  and  the  majority  of  which  are 
left  unsolved. 

The  next  poet  after  Baudelaire,  who  is  also  considered 
great,  Verlaine,  even  wrote  a  whole  Art  poetique,  in 
which  he  advises  men  to  write  as  follows : 

"  De  la  musique  avant  toute  chose, 
Et  pour  cela  pr^fere  I'lmpair 
Plus  vague  et  plus  soluble  dans  Fair, 
Sans  rien  en  lui  qui  pese  ou  qui  pose. 

« II  faut  aussi  que  tu  n'aille  point 
Choisir  tes  mots  sans  quelque  m^prise : 
Rien  de  plus  cher  que  la  chanson  grise 
Oil  rindicis  au  Precis  se  joint." 

And  farther: 

"  De  la  musique  encore  et  toujours, 
Que  ton  vers  soit  la  chose  envol^e, 
Qu'on  sente  qu'il  fuit  d'une  ame  en  all6e 
Vers  d'autres  cieux  a  d'autres  amours. 

"  Que  ton  vers  soit  la  bonne  aventure 
Eparse  au  vent  crisp6  du  matin, 
Qui  va  fleurant  la  menthe  et  le  thym  .  .  . 
Et  tout  le  reste  est  litt^rature." 

The  next  after  these  two,  the  poet  Mallarm^,  who  is 
considered  the  most  prominent  of  the  younger  poets,  says 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  215 

distinctly  that  the  charm  of  a  poem  consists  in  guessing 
its  meaning,  and  that  in  poetry  there  must  always  be  an 
enigma : 

"  Je  pense  qu'il  faut  qu'il  n'y  ait  qu'allusioii.  La  contempla- 
tion des  objets,  I'image  s'envolant  des  reveries  suscit^es  par  eux, 
sent  le  cliant :  les  Paniassieus,  eux,  preinieiit  la  chose  entiere- 
ment  et  la  inoiitrent;  par  la  ils  manqueiit  de  mystere ;  ils 
retirent  aux  esprits  cette  joie  d^licieuse  de  croire  qu'ils  cr^ent. 
Nommer  an  objet,  c'est  supprimer  les  trois  quarts  de  la  jouissance 
du  poele  qui  est  faite  du  l/onheur  de  deviner  pen  a  pen  ;  le  sugge'rer 
—  voila  le  reve.  C'est  le  parfait  usage  de  ce  mystere  qui  constitue 
le  syinbole  :  6voquer  petit  a  petit  un  objet  pour  montrer  un  6tat 
d'ame,  ou  inversement,  choisir  uu  objet  et  en  degager  uu  6tat  d'ame 
par  une  s6i'ie  de  ddchiffrements. 

"  Si  un  etre  d'une  intelligence  moyenne  et  d'une  preparation 
litt6raire  insuffisante  ouvre  par  liasard  un  livre  ainsi  fait  et  pre- 
tend en  jouir,  il  y  a  malentendu,  il  faut  remettre  les  choses  a  leur 
place.  II  doit  y  avoir  toujnnrs  iniignie  en  poesie,  et  c'est  le  but  de 
la  litt^rature ;  il  n'y  en  a  pas  d'autre,  —  d'evoquer  les  objets  " 
(^Enquete  sui-  Vevolution  litteraire,  Jules  Iluret,  pp   60-61). 

Thus  obscurity  is  among  the  modern  poets  raised  to  a 
dogma,  as  the  French  critic  Doumic,  who  does  not  yet 
recognize  the  truth  of  this  dogma,  remarks  quite  cor- 
rectly. 

"  II  serait  temps  aussi  de  finir,"  —  he  says,  —  "  avec  cette  fa- 
meuse  th^orie  de  I'obscurit^  que  la  nouvelie  ^cole  a  61ev6e  en  eifet 
a  la  liauteur  d'un  dogme  "  (Les  jeunes,  etudes  et  portraits  par  Ren6 
Doumic). 

And  it  is  not  only  the  French  writers  who  think  so. 

So  think  and  act  the  poets  of  all  other  nationalities,  — 
the  Germans,  Scandinavians,  Italians,  Kussians,  English ; 
so  think  all  the  artists  of  modern  times  in  all  branches 
of  art,  —  in  painting,  in  sculpture,  in  music.  Leaning  on 
Nietzsche  and  Wagner,  the  artists  of  modern  times  as- 
sume that  they  need  not  be  understood  by  the  rude 
masses,  —  that  it  is  enough  for  them  to  evoke  poetical 


216  WHAT    IS    ART? 

conditions  in  the  "  best  nurtured  meu,"  as  the  Enghsh 
aesthetician  says. 

In  order  that  what  I  say  may  not  appear  bold,  I  will 
quote  here  at  least  a  few  samples  of  French  poets  who 
have  led  in  this  movemeut.  The  name  of  these  poets  is 
legion. 

I  have  chosen  the  modern  French  authors,  because 
they  more  glaringly  than  any  otliers  express  the  new 
tendency  in  art,  and  because  the  majority  of  the  Europeans 
imitate  them. 

Besides  those  whose  names  are  considered  famous,  such 
as  Baudelaire  aud  Verlaine,  I  give  here  a  few  names  of 
these  poets :  Jean  Mor^as,  Charles  Maurice,  Henri  de 
E^gnier,  Charles  Viguier,  Adrien  liomaille,  Een^  Ghil, 
Maurice  Maeterlinck,  C.  Albert  Aurier,  Ren^  de  Gour- 
mont,  St.  Paul,  Eoux  le  Magnitique,  Georges  Eodenbach, 
le  Comte  Eobert  de  Montesquiou-F^zansac.  These  are 
symbolists  and  decadents.  Then  come  the  magi :  Jos^phin 
Peladau,  Paul  Adam,  Jules  Bois,  M.  Papus,  and  so  forth. 

Besides  these,  there  are  141  other  poets  counted  out 
by  Doumic  in  his  book. 

Here  are  samples  from  those  of  the  poets  who  are  con- 
sidered to  be  the  best.  I  begin  with  the  most  famous, 
Baudelaire,  who  is  recognized  to  be  a  great  man,  worthy 
of  a  monument.  Here,  for  example,  is  his  poem  from  his 
famous  Fleiirs  du  Mai : 


"  Je  t'adore  a  I'^gal  de  la  voute  nocturne, 
O  vase  de  tristesse,  6  grande  taciturne, 
Et  t'ainie  d'autant  plus,  belle,  que  tu  me  fuis, 
Et  que  tu  nie  parais,  ornement  de  mes  nuits, 
Plus  ironiquement  accumuler  les  lieues, 
Qui  s^parent  mes  bras  des  immensit^s  bleues. 
Je  m'avauce  a  I'attaque,  et  je  grimpe  aux  assauts, 
Comme  apres  un  cadavre  un  choeur  de  vermisseaux. 
Et  je  ch^ris,  6  hHe  implacable  et  cruelle  ! 
Jusqu'a  cette  froideur  par  oil  tu  m'es  plus  belle  I  " 


WHAT    IS    AKT?  217 

Here  is  another,  by  the  same  Baudelaire : 

"  DUELLUM 

«  Deux  guerriers  ont  couru  I'lm  sur  I'autre ;  leurs  armes 
Out  eclabouss6  i'air  de  lueurs  et  de  sang. 

—  Ces  jeux,  ces  cliquetis  du  fer  sont  les  vacarmes 
D'une  jeuuesse  en  proie  a  I'amour  vagissant. 

*'  Les  glaives  sont  brisks  !  comme  notre  Jeunesse, 
Ma  chere !  Mais  les  dents,  les  ongles  ac6r^s, 
Vengent  bientot  I'ep^e  et  la  dague  tvaitresse. 

—  O  fureur  des  coeurs  mCirs  par  I'amour  ulc6r6s! 

"  Dans  le  ravin  hant6  des  chats-pards  et  des  onces, 
Nos  h6ros,  s'^treignant  m6chamrnent,  ont  roul6, 
Et  leur  peau  fleurira  I'aridit^  des  ronces. 

«  —  Ce  gouffre,  c'estl'enfer,  de  nos  amis  peupl^I 
Roulons  y  sans  remords,  amazone  inhumaine, 
Afin  d'^terniser  I'ardeur  de  notre  haine  1 " 

To  be  exact,  I  must  say  that  in  the  collected  volume 
there  are  some  poems  which  are  less  incomprehensible, 
but  there  is  not  one  that  is  simple  or  that  could  be  under- 
stood without  some  effort,  —  an  effort  which  is  seldom 
rewarded,  since  the  sentiments  expressed  by  the  poet  are 
bad  and  very  low. 

These  sentiments  are  intentionally  always  expressed  in 
an  original  and  insipid  manner.  This  intentional  obscu- 
rity is  particularly  noticeable  in  prose,  where  the  author 
might  have  spoken  simply,  if  he  had  so  wished. 

Here,  for  example,  from  his  Petits  poemes  en  prose,  is 
the  first  piece  "  L'^tranger." 

"l'^tranger 

" '  Qui  aimes-tu  le  mieilx,  homme  ^nigmatique,  des :  ton  pere, 
ta  mere,  ton  frere  ou  ta  soeur  ?  ' 

"  '  Je  n'ai  ni  pere,  ni  mere,  ni  soeur,  ni  frere.' 


218  WHAT   IS    AKT? 

'"Tes  amis?' 

'"Vous  vous  servez  la  d'une  parole  dont  le  sens  m'est  rest6 
jusqu'a  ce  jour  inconnii.' 

"  '  Ta  patrie  ?  ' 

"  'J 'ignore  sous  quelle  latitude  elle  est  situ^e.' 

"  '  La  beaut6  ? ' 

"  '  Je  I'aimerais  volontiers,  d^esse  at  immortelle.' 

" '  L'or  ?  ' 

"  '  Je  le  hais,  comme  vous  haissez  Dieu.' 

"  '  Eh  1  qu'aimes  tu  done,  extraordinaire  stranger?' 

<''J'aime  les  nuages  .  .  .  les  nuages  qui  passent  .  .  .  la-bas 
.  .  .  les  rnerveilleux  nuages  !...'" 

The  piece,  "  La  soupe  et  les  nuages,"  is  no  doubt 
intended  to  express  the  poet's  incomprehensibility  even 
by  her  whom  he  loves.     Here  it  is : 

"  Ma  petite  folle  bien-aim^e  me  donnait  a  diner,  et  par  la 
fenetre  ouverte  de  la  salle  a  manger  je  contemplais  les  mou- 
vantes  architectures  que  Dieu  fait  avec  les  vapeurs,  les  merveil- 
leuses  constructions  de  I'impalpable.  Et  je  me  disais  a  travers 
ma  contemplation :  '  Toutes  ces  fantasmagories  sont  presque 
aussi  belles  que  les  yeux  de  ma  belle  bien-aim^e,  la  petite  folle 
monstrueuse  aux  yeux  verts.' 

"  Et  tout-a-coup  je  regus  un  violent  coup  de  poing  dans  le  dos, 
et  j'entendis  une  voix  rauque  et  charmante,  une  voix  hyst^rique 
et  comme  enrou6e  par  I'eau  de  vie,  la  voix  de  ma  chere  petite 
bien-aitnee,  qui  disait :  '  Allez-vous  bientot  manger  votre  soupe, 
s b de  marchand  de  nuages?'" 

However  artificial  this  production  may  be,  it  is  possible 
with  some  effort  to  guess  what  it  is  the  poet  meant  to 
convey  by  it ;  but  there  are  some  pieces  which  are 
entirely  incomprehensible,  at  least  for  me. 

Here,  for  example,  is  "  Le  galant  tireur,"  the  meaning 
of  which  I  was  not  able  to  grasp  completely : 

"  LE    GALANT    TIREUR 

"  Comme  la  voiture  traversait  le  bois,  il  la  fit  arreter  dans  le 
voisinage  d'un  tir,  disant  qu'il  lui  serait  agr^able  de  tirer  quel- 
tpies  balles  pour  tuer  le  Temps. 


WHAT    IS   AKT  ?  219 

"  Tiier  ce  monstre-la,  n'est-ce  pas  I'occiipation  la  plus  oidiiiaire 
et  la  plus  li'^itinie  de  chaciin  ? —  Et  il  offril  galaniiueut  la  main 
a  sa  cIk'tc,  diMicieuse  et  execrable  feiiiiiie,  a  cette  myst(''rieiise 
femme,  a  laqiielle  il  doit  taut  de  plaisirs,  taut  de  douleurs,  et 
peut-elre  aussi  uue  graude  partie  de  sou  geuie. 

"  riusieurs  balles  frappereut  loiu  du  but  propose  :  I'uue  d'elles 
s'enfonca  menie  daus  la  plafoud  ;  et  comnie  la  charmaute  creature 
riait  folleuient,  se  raoquaut  de  la  lualadresse  de  sou  6poux,  celui- 
ci  se  tourua  brusquement  vers  elle,  et  lui  dit :  '  Observez  cette 
poupee,  Uirbas,  a  droite,  qui  porte  le  nez  en  I'air  et  qui  a  la  mine 
si  hautaiue.  Eh  bieu!  cher  ange,  /e  me  figure  que  c'est  vous.' 
Et  il  feruKi  les  yeux  et  il  lacha  la  detente.  La  poup6e  fut  nette- 
meut  d^capit^e. 

"  Alors  s'iucliuaut  vers  sa  chere,  sa  d61icieuse,  son  execrable 
femme,  son  inevitable  et  impitoyable  Muse,  et  lui  baisant  respec- 
tueusement  la  main,  il  ajouta  : 

" '  Ah,  mon  cher  ange,  combien  je  vous  remercie  de  men 
adi-esse  I ' " 

The  productions  of  another  celebrity,  Verlaine,  are  not 
less  artificial  and  not  less  incompreheusible.  Here,  for 
example,  is  the  first  from  the  division  of  "  Ariettes 
ouhliees."    ■ 

Here  is  the  first  ariette : 

" '  Le  vent  dans  la  plaine 

Suspend  son  haleine  '     (Favart). 

"  C'est  I'extase  langoureuse, 
C'est  la  fatigue  amoureuse, 
C'est  tous  les  frissons  des  bois 
Parmi  I'^treinte  des  brises, 
C'est  vers  les  ramures  grises, 
Le  choeur  des  petites  voix. 
O  le  frele  et  frais  murmure  ! 
Cela  gazouille  et  susure, 
Cela  ressemble  an  cri  doux 
Que  riierbe  agit^e  expire  .  .  . 
Tu  dirais,  sous  I'eau  qui  vire, 
Le  roulis  sourd  des  cailloux. 
Cette  S,me  qui  se  lamente 
En  cette  plainte  dormante, 


220  WHAT   IS   AKT? 

C'est  la  notre,  ii'est-ce  pas  ? 
La  mienne,  dis,  et  la  tienne, 
Dont  s'exhale  I'humble  antienne 
Par  ce  tiede  soir,  tout  bas." 

Wliat  is  this  "  chceur  des  petits  voix  "  ?  And  what  is 
"  cri  doux  I'herbe  agit^e  expire  "  ?  And  it  remains  abso- 
lutely incomprehensible  to  me  what  meaning  the  whole 
may  have. 

Here  is  another  ariette : 

"  Dans  rintermiiiable 
Ennui  de  la  plaine, 
La  neige  incertaine 
^/uit  comme  du  sable. 
Le  ciel  est  de  cuivre, 
Sans  lueur  aucuue. 
On  croirait  voir  vivre 
Et  niourir  la  lune. 
Conime  des  nu6es 
Flottent  gris  les  chenes 
Des  forets  prochaines 
Parnii  les  bu6es. 
Ce  ciel  est  de  cuivre, 
Sans  hieur  aucune. 
On  croirait  voir  vivre 
Et  mourir  la  lune. 
Corneille  poussive 
Et  vous,  les  loups  maigrea, 
Par  ces  bises  aigres, 
Quoi  done  vous  arrive  ? 
Dans  interminable 
Ennui  de  la  plaine, 
La  neige  incertaine 
Luit  comuie  du  sable." 

How  does  the  moon  live  and  die  in  the  copper  sky,  and 
how  does  the  snow  shine  like  sand  ?  All  this  is  not  only 
incomprehensible,  but,  under  the  pretext  of  conveying  a 
mood,  a  compilation  of  inexact  comparisons  and  words. 

Besides  these  artificial  and  obscure  poems,  there  are 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  221 

some  that  are  comprehensible,  but  very  bad  in  form  and 
contents.  Such  are  all  the  poems  under  the  title  of  "  Lou 
sagesse."  In  these  poems  the  largest  space  is  occupied 
by  very  poor  expressions  of  the  tritest  of  Catholic  and 
patriotic  sentiments.  In  them  there  are,  for  example, 
such  stanzas : 

"  Je  ne  veux  plus  penser  qu'a  ma  mere  Marie, 
Siege  de  la  sagesse  et  source  de  pardons, 
Mere  de  France  aussi  de  qui  nous  attendons, 
Inehranlablement  rhonneur  de  la  pair ie." 

Before  quoting  examples  from  other  poets,  I  cannot 
refrain  from  dwelling  on  the  remarkable  fame  of  these 
two  poets,  Baudelaire  and  Verlaine,  who  are  now  ac- 
knowledged to  be  great  poets.  How  could  the  French, 
who  had  a  Chenier,  Musset,  Lamartine,  and,  above  all, 
a  Hugo,  who  but  lately  had  so-called  Parnassians,  Leconte 
de  Lisle,  Sully-Prud'homme,  and  others,  have  ascribed 
such  meaninu;  to  these  two  versifiers  and  consider  them 
to  be  great  poets,  who  are  very  inartistic  in  form  and  very 
low  and  trite  as  to  their  contents  ?  The  world  conception 
of  the  one,  Baudelaire,  consists  in  raising  coarse  egoism  to 
a  theory,  and  putting  in  the  place  of  morality  the  con- 
cept of  beauty,  which  is  as  indefinite  as  the  clouds,  a 
beauty  which  has  by  all  means  to  be  artificial.  Baude- 
laire prefers  a  woman's  painted  face  to  the  natural,  and 
metallic  trees  and  the  theatrical  imitation  of  water  to 
the  natural. 

The  world  conception  of  the  other  poet,  Yerlaine,  con- 
sists in  a  limp  laxity  of  morals,  the  recognition  of  his 
moral  impotcuce,  and,  as  a  salvation  from  this  impotence, 
the  coarsest  Catholic  idolatrv.  Both  are  at  the  same 
time  not  only  deprived  of  naivety  sincerity,  and  sim- 
plicity, but  also  full  of  artificiality,  striving  after  orig- 
inality, and  self-conceit.  Thus  one  sees,  in  their  less  bad 
productions,  more  of  Mr.  Baudelaire  or  Mr,  Verlaine  than 


222  WHAT    IS    ART? 

what  they  represent.  And  these  two  bad  versifiers  form 
a  school  and  lead  after  them  hundreds  of  followers. 

There  is  but  one  explanation  of  this  phenomenon :  it  is 
this,  that  the  art  of  that  society  in  which  these  versifiers 
are  active  is  not  a  serious,  important  matter  of  life,  but 
only  play.  But  every  play  grows  tiresome  with  every 
repetition.  In  order  to  make  a  tiresome  game  again  pos- 
sible, it  is  necessary  to  renovate  it :  if  boston  is  tiresome, 
they  invent  whist ;  if  whist  is  tiresome,  they  invent  pref- 
erence; if  preference  is  tiresome,  they  invent  something 
new,  and  so  on.  The  essence  of  the  thing  remains  the 
same,  but  the  form  changes.  Even  so  it  is  in  this  art: 
its  contents,  becoming  more  and  more  limited,  have  finally 
reached  such  a  stage  that  it  seems  to  the  artists  of  these 
exclusive  classes  that  everything  has  been  said  and  noth- 
ing new  can  be  said.  And  so,  in  order  to  renovate  this 
art,  they  seek  for  new  forms. 

Baudelaire  and  Verlaine  invent  a  new  form  and,  in 
addition,  renovate  it  by  heretofore  unused  pornographic 
details.  And  the  critique  and  the  pubhc  of  the  higher 
classes  recognize  them  as  great  writers. 

Only  in  this  way  can  we  explain  the  success,  not  only 
of  Baudelaire  and  Verlaine,  but  also  of  all  the  decadents. 

There  are,  for  example,  some  poems  of  Mallarm^  and 
Maeterlinck  which  have  no  meaning  whatever,  and,  in 
spite  of  it,  or,  perhaps,  in  consequence  of  it,  are  printed 
not  only  in  tens  of  thousands  of  separate  editions,  but 
also  in  the  collections  of  the  best  productions  of  the 
young  poets. 

Here,  for  example,  is  a  sonnet  by  Mallarm^  (Pan,  1895, 
No.  1) : 

"  A  la  nue  accablante  tu 
Basse  de  basalte  et  de  laves 
A  rneme  les  ^chos  esclaves 
Par  une  trompe  sans  vertu. 
Quel  s^piilcral  iiaufrage  (tu 
Le  soil",  ^cuine,  mais  y  brave) 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  223 

Supreme  line  entre  les  6pave3 

Abolit  le  mat  d6vetu. 

Ou  cela  que  I'urihoud  faute 

De  quelque  perdition  haute, 

Tout  I'abiine  vaiu  6ploye 

Dans  le  si  blanc  cheveu  qui  traine 

Avarement  aura  noy6 

Le  flanc  enfant  d'une  sirene." 

This  poem  is  not  an  exception  for  its  incomprehensible- 
ness.  1  have  read  several  poems  by  Mallarm^  They 
are  all  equally  deprived  of  all  sense. 

Here  is  a  sample  of  another  famous  contemporary  poet, 
a  song  by  Maeterlinck.  I  copy  it  also  from  the  periodical 
Pan,  1895,  No.  2. 

"  Quand  il  est  sorti 
(J'entendis  la  porte) 
Quand  il  est  sorti 
Elle  avait  souri. 
Mais  quand  il  rentra 
(J'entendis  la  lampe) 
Mais  quand  il  rentra 
Une  autre  6tait  la  .  .  . 
Et  j'ai  vu  la  mort 
(J'entendis  son  Time) 
Et  j'ai  vu  la  mort 
Qui  I'attend  encore  .  .  . 
On  est  venu  dire 
(Mon  enfant,  j'ai  peur) 
On  est  venu  dire 
Qu'il  allait  partir  .  .  . 
Ma  lampe  alliim^e 
(Mon  enfant,  j'ai  peur) 
Ma  lampe  allum^e 
Me  suis  approch^e  .  .  . 
A  la  premiere  porte 
(Mon  enfant,  j'ai  peur) 
A  la  premiere  porte, 
La  flam  me  a  tremble  .  .  « 
A  la  seconds  porte 
(Mon  enfant,  j'ai  peur) 


224  WHAT   IS   ART? 

A  la  seconde  porte, 
La  flamme  a  parl6  .  .  . 
A  la  troisieme  porte 
(Mon  enfant,  j'ai  peur) 
A  la  troisieme  porte, 
La  lumiere  est  morte  .  .  . 
Et  s'il  revenait  un  jour 
Que  f aut-il  lui  dire  ? 
Dites  lui  qu'on  I'attendit 
Jusqu'a  s'eu  mourir  .  .  . 
Et  s'il  interroge  encore 
Sans  me  reconnaitre, 
Parlez  lui  comme  une  soeur, 
II  souffre  peut-etre  .  .  . 
Et  s'il  demande  oil  vous  etes 
Que  f aut-il  r^pondre  ? 
Donnez  lui  mon  anneau  d'or 
Sans  rien  lui  r6pondre  .  .  . 
Et  s'il  veut  savoir  pourquoi 
La  salle  est  d^serte  ? 
Montrez  lui  la  lampe  6teinte 
Et  la  porte  ouverte  .  .  . 
Et  s'il  m 'interroge  alors 
Sur  la  derniere  heure  ? 
Dites  lui  que  j'ai  souri 
De  peur  qu'il  ne  pleure  .  .  ." 

Who  went  out,  who  came,  who  told,  who  died  ? 

I  beg  the  reader  to  take  the  trouble  to  read  what  I 
copied  in  Appendix  I.,  —  the  specimens  from  the  better 
known  and  esteemed  young  poets,  —  Griffin,  E^gnier, 
Moreas,  and  Montesquiou.  This  is  necessary  in  order  to 
form  a  clear  conception  of  the  present  condition  of  art, 
and  not  to  think,  as  many  do,  that  the  decadence  is  an 
accidental,  temporary  phenomenon. 

In  order  to  avoid  a  reproach  of  having  chosen  the 
worst  poems,  I  copied  from  all  these  books  such  poems  as 
were  found  on  page  28. 

All  the  poems  of  these  poets  are  equally  incomprehen- 
sible, or  comprehensible  only  with  great  effort  and  then 
not  fully. 


WHAT   IS    AKT  ?  225 

Of  the  same  kind  are  all  the  productions  of  those  hun- 
dreds of  poets  from  whom  I  have  quoted  a  few  names. 
Similar  poems  are  printed  by  the  Germans,  the  Scandi- 
navians, the  Italians,  and  us  Russians.  Of  such  produc- 
tions there  are  priuted  and  distributed,  if  not  millions,  at 
least  hundreds  of  thousands  of  copies  (some  of  them  are 
sold  by  the  ten  thousand).  For  the  setting  up,  printing, 
composition,  binding  of  these  books,  millions  are  wasted, 
and  millions  of  work-days,  I  think  not  less  than  was 
spent  on  building  the  great  pyramid.  But  that  is  not 
all :  the  same  takes  place  in  all  other  arts,  and  millions 
of  work-days  are  wasted  on  the  productions  of  similarly 
incomprehensible  subjects  in  painting,  music,  and  the 
drama. 

Painting  not  only  does  not  fall  behind  poetry  in  this, 
but  even  precedes  it.  Here  is  an  extract  from  a  diary  of 
a  lover  of  painting,  who  in  1894  visited  the  Paris  exhi- 
bitions : 

"  I  was  to-day  at  three  exhibitions,  —  of  the  symbolists, 
impressionists,  and  neo-impressionists.  I  looked  con- 
scientiously and  carefully  at  the  pictures,  but  again  the 
same  perplexity  and  finally  indignation.  The  first  exhi- 
bition by  Camille  Pissaro  is  the  most  comprehensible, 
though  there  is  no  drawing,  no  contents,  and  the  colour- 
ing is  most  improbable.  The  drawing  is  so  indefinite  that 
at  times  it  is  hard  to  make  out  which  way  a  hand  or 
a  head  is  turned.  The  contents  are  for  the  most  part 
'  effets.'  Effet  de  brouillard,  Effet  du  soir,  Soleil  couchant. 
A  few  pictures  were  with  figures,  but  without  any  subject. 

"  In  the  colouring  there  predominates  the  bright  blue 
and  bright  green.  In  each  painting  there  is  a  funda- 
mental tone  with  which  the  whole  picture  seems  to  be 
bespattered.  For  example,  in  a  shepherdess  watching  the 
geese,  the  fundamental  tone  is  '  vert  de  gris,'  and  every- 
where there  occur  little  blots  of  this  colour,  on  the  face, 
the    hair,  the   hands,  the   dress.     In   the    same   gallery 


226  WHAT    IS   ART? 

'  Durand  Euel '  other  paintings  are  by  Puvis  de  Chavannes, 
Manet,  Monet,  Renoir,  Sisley,  —  all  of  them  impression- 
ists. One  of  them,  —  I  did  not  make  out  the  name,  — 
it  was  something  like  Eedon,  —  painted  a  blue  face  in 
profile.  In  the  whole  face  there  is  nothing  but  this  blue 
tone  with  white  in  it.  Pissaro's  water-colour  is  all  made 
in  dots.  In  the  foreground  a  cow  is  all  painted  in  many- 
coloured  dots.  It  is  impossible  to  catch  the  general  tone, 
no  matter  how  far  you  recede  or  approach  it. 

"  From  there  I  went  to  see  the  symbolists.  I  looked 
for  a  long  time,  asking  nobody  about  them,  and  trying  to 
guess  myself  what  it  was  all  about,  —  but  that  is  above 
human  reason.  One  of  the  first  things  that  attracted  my 
attention  was  a  wooden  haut-relief,  monstrously  executed, 
representing  a  (naked)  woman,  who  with  both  her  hands 
is  pressing  two  streams  of  blood  out  of  her  teats.  The 
blood  flows  down  and  passes  into  hlac-coloured  flowers. 
The  hair  is  at  first  falling  down,  then  rises,  when  it  is 
changed  into  trees.  The  statue  is  painted  solid  yellow, 
the  hair  —  brown, 

"  Then  a  picture :  a  yellow  sea,  —  on  it  sails  something 
hke  a  ship,  or  a  heart,  —  on  the  horizon  is  a  profile  with 
an  aureole  and  with  yellow  hair,  which  passes  into  the 
sea  and  is  lost  in  it.  The  paint  is  on  some  pictures  put 
on  so  thick  that  the  result  is  something  intermediate  be- 
tween painting  and  sculpture.  The  third  is  still  less 
comprehensible :  a  male  profile,  in  front  of  it  a  flame  and 
black  streaks,  —  leeches,  as  I  was  told  later.  Finally 
I  asked  a  gentleman  who  was  there  what  it  meant,  and 
he  explained  to  me  that  the  statue  was  a  sj^mbol,  that 
it  represented  '  La  terre ; '  the  sailing  heart  in  the  yellow 
sea  was  '  Illusion  perdue,'  and  the  gentleman  with  the 
leeches  '  Le  mal.'  There  are  here  also  some  impressionist 
pictures :  primitive  profiles  with  some  kind  of  flower  in 
tlieir  hands,  —  of  one  tone,  not  painted,  and  either  abso- 
lutely indefinite  or  surrounded  by  a  broad  black  contour." 


WHAT    IS    AKT  ?  227 

That  was  in  the  year  1894 ;  now  this  tendency  has 
been  more  strongly  defined :  Bocklin,  Stuck,  Klinger, 
Sasha  Schneider,  and  others. 

The  same  is  taking  place  in  the  drama.  They  either 
represent  an  architect,  who  for  some  reason  has  not  ful- 
filled liis  former  high  resolves  and  in  consequence  of  this 
climbs  on  the  roof  of  a  house  built  by  him  and  from 
there  flies  down  headlong ;  or  some  incomprehensible  old 
woman,  who  raises  rats  and  for  some  unknown  reason  takes 
a  poetic  child  to  the  sea  and  there  drowns  it ;  or  some 
blind  people,  who,  sitting  at  the  seashore,  for  some  reason 
all  the  time  repeat  one  and  the  same  thing;  or  a  bell, 
which  flies  into  a  lake  and  there  keeps  ringing. 

The  same  takes  place  in  music,  in  that  art  which,  it 
would  seem,  ought  to  be  more  than  any  other  compre- 
hensible to  all  alike, 

A  musician  whom  you  know  and  who  enjoys  a  reputa- 
tion sits  down  at  the  piano  and  plays  for  you,  as  he  says, 
a  new  production  of  his  own  or  of  a  new  artist.  You 
hear  strange  loud  sounds,  and  marvel  at  the  gymnastic 
exercises  of  his  fingers,  and  see  clearly  that  the  composer 
wishes  to  impress  you  with  the  idea  that  the  sounds  pro- 
duced by  him  are  poetical  strivings  of  the  soul.  You  see 
his  intention,  but  no  other  sensation  than  ennui  is  com- 
municated to  you.  The  performance  lasts  long,  or,  at 
least,  you  think  that  it  lasts  very  long,  since  you,  receiv- 
ing no  clear  impression,  involuntarily  think  of  A.  Karr's 
words :  "  Plus  9a  va  vite,  plus  9a  dure  lougtemps."  And 
it  occurs  to  you  that  this  may  be  a  mystification,  that  the 
performer  is  trying  you,  whirling  his  hands  and  fingers 
over  the  keys,  in  the  hope  that  you  will  be  caught  and 
will  praise,  while  he  will  laugh  and  confess  that  he  has 
been  trying  you.  But  when  it  is  at  last  finished,  and 
the  percpiring  and  agitated  musician,  evidently  expecting 
praise,  gets  up  from  the  piano,  you  see  that  all  this  was 
in  earnest. 


228  WHAT    IS    ART? 

The  same  takes  place  at  all  concerts  with  the  produc- 
tions of  Liszt,  Wagner,  Berlioz,  Brabras,  and  the  modern 
Eichard  Strauss,  and  an  endless  number  of  others,  who 
compose  uninterruptedly  one  after  another  operas  and 
symphonies. 

The  same  takes  place  in  the  sphere  where,  it  would 
seem,  it  is  hard  to  be  incomprehensible,  —  in  the  sphere 
of  the  novel  and  the  story. 

You  read  Huysmans'  Lit  has,  or  Kipling's  stories,  or 
Villier  de  ITsle  Adam's  L' annonciateur  from  his  Contes 
cruels,  and  so  forth,  and  all  this  is  for  you  not  only 
"  abscons "  (a  new  word  of  the  new  writers),  but  com- 
pletely incomprehensible,  both  in  form  and  in  contents. 
Such,  for  example,  is  E.  Morel's  novel,  Terre  Promise, 
which  has  just  appeared  in  the  Revue  blanche,  and  also 
the  majority  of  the  modern  novels :  the  style  is  flowery, 
the  sentiments  seem  to  be  elevated,  but  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  to  understand  how,  when,  and  to  whom  things 
happen. 

Such  is  all  the  young  art  of  our  time. 

The  men  of  the  first  part  of  our  century,  the  appreci- 
ators  of  Gothe,  Schiller,  Musset,  Hugo,  Dickens,  Beethoven, 
Chopin,  Eaphael,  Vinci,  Michelangelo,  Delaroche,  who  can- 
not make  out  anything  in  this  latest  art,  frequently  con- 
sider the  productions  of  this  art  to  be  downright  tasteless 
madness,  and  want  to  ignore  it.  But  such  a  relation  to 
modern  art  is  quite  unfounded,  because,  in  the  first  place, 
this  art  is  being  disseminated  more  and  more  and  has 
already  conquered  for  itself  a  firm  place  in  society,  such 
as  romanticism  conquered  in  the  thirties ;  in  the  second 
place,  and  chiefly,  because,  if  it  is  possible  to  judge  thus 
of  the  productions  of  the  later,  the  decadent  art  because 
we  do  not  understand  it,  there  is  an  enormous  number  of 
men,  —  all  the  working  people,  and  many  who  are  not 
working  people,  —  who  similarly  do  not  understand  those 
productions   of   art  which  we  consider  beautiful,  —  the 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  229 

poetry  of  our  favourite  artists,  Gbthe,  Schiller,  Hugo, 
the  novels  of  Dickens,  the  music  of  Beethoven  and 
Chopin,  the  paintings  of  Eaphael,  Michelangelo,  Vinci, 
and  others. 

If  1  have  the  right  to  think  that  large  masses  of  people 
do  not  understand  and  do  not  like  what  I  indubitably 
recognize  as  good,  because  they  are  not  sufficiently  devel- 
oped, I  have  not  the  right  to  deny  even  this,  that  possibly 
I  do  not  understand  and  like  the  new  productions  of  art 
only  because  I  am  not  sufficiently  developed  in  order  to 
understand  them.  But  if  I  have  the  right  to  say  that, 
with  the  majority  of  men  sharing  my  views,  I  do  not 
understand  the  productions  of  modern  art,  only  because 
there  is  nothing  in  them  to  understand  and  because  it  is 
bad  art,  then  a  still  greater  majority,  the  whole  mass  of 
the  working  people,  who  do  not  understand  what  I  regard 
as  beautiful  art,  may  say  with  precisely  the  same  right 
that  what  I  consider  to  be  good  art  is  bad  art,  and  that 
there  is  nothing  in  it  to  understand. 

I  saw  with  peculiar  clearness  the  injustice  of  condemn- 
ing the  modern  art,  when  once  a  poet,  who  composed 
incomprehensible  verses,  at  one  time  in  my  presence 
with  merry  self-confidence  made  fun  of  incomprehensible 
music,  and  soon  after  this  a  musician,  who  composed  in- 
comprehensible symphonies,  with  the  same  self-confidence 
made  fun  of  incomprehensible  verses.  I  have  not  the 
right,  and  I  am  not  able,  to  condemn  modern  art,  because 
I,  a  man  educated  in  the  first  half  of  the  century,  do  not 
understand  it ;  all  I  can  say  is  that  it  is  incomprehensible 
to  me.  The  only  superiority  of  the  art  which  I  acknowl- 
edge over  the  decadent  art  consists  in  this,  that  the  art 
which  I  acknowledge  is  comprehensible  to  a  somewhat 
larger  number  of  men  than  the  modern. 

Because  I  am  used  to  a  certain  exclusive  art  and  under- 
stand it,  but  do  not  understand  a  more  exclusive  art,  I 
have  no  right  whatsoever  to  conclude  that  this,  my  art, 


230  WHAT    IS    ART? 

is  the  true  one,  and  the  one  I  do  not  understand  is  not 
true,  but  bad ;  from  this  I  can  conclude  only  this,  that 
art,  becoming  more  and  more  exclusive,  has  become  more 
and  more  incomprehensible  for  an  ever  growing  number 
of  men,  in  this  its  movement  toward  a  greater  and  ever 
greater  incomprehensibility,  on  one  of  the  steps  of  which 
I  find  myself  with  my  customary  art,  and  has  reached  a 
point  where  it  is  understood  by  the  smallest  number 
of  the  elect,  and  the  number  of  these  elect  is  growing 
smaller  and  smaller. 

As  soon  as  the  art  of  the  higher  classes  segregated 
itself  from  the  popular  art,  there  appeared  the  conviction 
that  art  may  be  art  and  at  the  same  time  incomprehen- 
sible to  the  masses.  The  moment  this  supposition  was 
admitted,  it  had  to  be  inevitably  admitted  that  art  may 
be  comprehensiljle  only  for  a  very  small  number  of  the 
elect  and,  finally,  only  for  two  or  one,  —  one's  own  best 
friend,  oneself.  This  is  precisely  what  the  modern  artists 
say :  "  I  create,  and  understand  myself,  and  if  some  one 
does  not  understand  me,  so  much  the  worse  for  him." 

The  assertion  that  art  may  be  good  art,  and  yet  be  in- 
comprehensible to  a  great  majority  of  men,  is  to  such 
a  degree  incorrect,  its  consequences  are  to  such  a  degree 
pernicious  for  art,  and,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  so  diffused, 
has  so  corroded  our  conception,  that  it  is  impossible  suffi- 
ciently to  elucidate  its  whole  incompatibility. 

There  is  nothing  more  common  than  to  hear  of  supposed 
productions  of  art  that  they  are  very  good,  but  that  it  is 
hard  to  understand  them.  We  have  become  accustomed 
to  such  an  assertion,  and  yet,  to  say  that  a  production  of 
art  is  good,  but  not  comprehensible,  is  the  same  as  to  say 
of  a  certain  food  that  it  is  very  good,  but  that  men  cannot 
eat  it.  People  may  dislike  rotten  cheese,  decaying  par- 
tridges, and  so  forth,  food  which  is  esteemed  by  gastrono- 
mers with  a  corrupt  taste,  but  bread  and  fruit  are  good 
only  when  people  like  them.     The  same  is  true  of  art : 


WHAT    IS    ART?  231 

corrupted  art  may  be  comprehensible  to  men,  but  good 
art  is  always  comprehensible  to  all  men. 

They  say  that  the  very  best  productions  of  art  are  such 
as  cannot  be  understood  by  the  majority  and  are  acces- 
sible only  to  the  elect,  who  are  prepared  for  the  compre- 
hension of  these  great  productions.  But  if  the  majority 
do  not  understand,  it  is  necessary  to  explain  to  them,  to 
convey  to  them  that  knowledge  which  is  necessary  for 
comprehension.  But  it  turns  out  that  there  is  no  such 
knowledge  and  that  it  is  impossible  to  explain  the  pro- 
ductions, and  so  those  who  say  that  the  majority  do  not 
understand  the  good  productions  of  art  do  not  give 
any  explanations,  but  say  that  in  order  to  understand,  it 
is  necessary  to  read,  to  see,  to  hear  the  same  productions 
again  and  again.  But  this  does  not  mean  explaining,  but 
training,  and  people  may  be  trained  for  the  very  worst. 
As  men  may  be  trained  to  eat  decayed  food,  to  use 
whiskey,  tobacco,  or  opium,  so  they  can  be  trained  for 
bad  art,  which  is  actually  being  done. 

Besides,  we  cannot  say  that  the  majority  of  men  have 
no  taste  for  the  appreciation  of  the  highest  productions  of 
art.  The  majority  of  men  have  always  understood  what 
we  consider  to  be  the  highest  art ;  the  artistically  sim- 
ple stories  of  the  Bible,  the  parables  of  the  Gospel,  the 
national  legends,  the  fairy-tales,  the  popular  songs,  are 
understood  by  everybody.  Why  have  the  masses  sud- 
denly been  deprived  of  the  ability  to  understand  what  is 
high  in  our  art  ? 

Of  a  speech  we  may  say  that  it  is  beautiful,  but  incom- 
prehensible to  those  wdio  do  not  know  the  language  in 
which  it  is  enunciated.  A  speech  made  in  Chinese  may 
be  beautiful  and  still  remain  incomprehensible  to  me,  if 
I  do  not  know  Chinese ;  but  a  production  of  art  is  dis- 
tinguished from  any  other  spiritual  activity  by  this  very 
fact,  that  its  language  is  comprehensible  to  all,  that  it 
infects  all  without  distinction.     The  tears,  the  laughter,  of 


232  WHAT    IS    ART? 

a  Chinaman  will  infect  me  as  much  as  the  laughter  and 
the  tears  of  a  Eussian,  just  like  painting  and  music  and 
a  poetical  production,  if  it  is  translated  into  a  language 
which  I  understand.  The  song  of  a  Kirgiz  and  a  Jap- 
anese moves  me,  though  more  feebly  than  it  touches  the 
Kirgiz  or  Japanese.  Similarly  am  I  affected  by  Japanese 
painting  and  Hindoo  architecture  and  an  Arabian  fable. 
If  I  am  little  moved  by  a  Japanese  song  and  a  Chinese 
novel,  it  is  not  because  I  do  not  understand  these  produc- 
tions, but  because  I  know  and  am  trained  to  higher  sub- 
jects of  art,  and  not  because  this  art  is  too  high  for  me. 
Great  subjects  of  art  are  great  for  this  very  reason,  that 
they  are  accessible  and  comprehensible  to  all.  The  story 
of  Joseph,  translated  into  Chinese,  affects  the  Chinese. 
The  story  of  Sakya  Muni  affects  us.  The  same  is  true  of 
buildings,  pictures,  statues,  music.  And  so,  if  some  art 
does  not  move  us,  we  cannot  say  that  this  is  due  to  the 
hearer's  and  spectator's  lack  of  comprehension,  but  must 
conclude  from  this  that  it  is  bad  art,  or  no  art  at  all. 

Art  differs  from  a  reasoning  activity  demanding  prepa- 
ration and  a  certain  consecutiveuess  of  knowledge  (thus 
it  is  impossible  to  teach  a  man  trigonometry  if  he  does 
not  know  geometry)  in  that  art  acts  upon  men  independ- 
ently of  their  degree  of  development  and  education,  in  that 
the  charm  of  a  picture,  of  sounds,  of  images,  infects  every 
man,  no  matter  at  what  stage  of  development  he  may  be. 

The  business  of  art  consists  in  making  comprehensible 
and  accessible  what  in  the  form  of  reasoning  may  remain 
incomprehensible  and  inaccessible.  As  a  rule,  in  receiv- 
ing a  truly  artistic  impression  the  person  so  impressed 
imagines  that  he  knew  that  before,  but  was  unable  to 
express  it. 

And  such  the  highest  art  has  always  been  :  the  Iliad, 
the  Odyssey,  the  history  of  Jacob,  Isaac,  Joseph,  the 
Jewish  prophets,  the  psalms,  the  Gospel  parables,  the 
story  of  Sakya  Muni,  and  the  Vedic   hymns,  all  these 


WHAT    IS    ART?  •         233 

convey  very  elevated  sentiments,  and,  in  spite  of  this,  are 
quite  comprehensible  at  the  present  time  to  us,  the  cul- 
tured and  the  uncultured,  and  were  comprehensible  to 
the  men  of  that  time,  who  were  even  less  enlightened 
than  the  working  people  of  our  day.  They  talk  of  the 
incomprehensibility.  But  if  art  is  a  conveyance  of  senti- 
ments which  result  from  the  rehgious  consciousness  of  men, 
how  can  a  sentiment  be  incomprehensible  if  it  is  based 
on  religion,  that  is,  on  the  relation  of  man  to  God  ?  Such 
art  must  have  been,  and  in  reality  has  been,  at  all  times 
comprehensible,  because  the  relation  of  every  man  to 
God  is  one  and  the  same.  And  so  the  temples  and  the 
images  and  the  singing  in  them  has  always  been  compre- 
hensible to  all  men.  An  obstacle  to  the  comprehension 
of  the  highest,  the  best  sentiments,  as  it  says  in  the 
Gospel,  is  by  no  ni'ians  in  a  lack  of  development  and 
teaching,  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  a  false  development  and 
a  false  teaching.  A  good  and  high  artistic  production 
may  indeed  be  incomprehensible,  but  not  to  simple,  un- 
corrupted  working  people  (to  them  everything  which  is 
very  high  is  comprehensible) ;  a  truly  artistic  production 
may  be,  and  frequently  is,  incomprehensible  to  over- 
learned,  corrupted  men,  who  are  deprived  of  religion,  as 
all  the  time  takes  place  in  our  society,  where  the  highest 
religious  sentiments  are  directly  incomprehensible  to  men. 
I  know,  for  example,  some  men  who  consider  themselves 
extremely  refined  and  who  say  that  they  do  not  under- 
stand the  poetry  of  love  for  their  neighbour  and  of  self- 
sacritice,  —  that  they  do  not  understand  the  poetry  of 
chastity. 

Thus  good,  great,  universal,  religious  art  may  be  in- 
comprehensible only  to  a  small  circle  of  corrupted  men, 
and  not  the  contrary. 

The  reason  why  art  cannot  be  incomprehensible  to  the 
masses  is  not  because  it  is  very  good,  as  the  artists  of  our 
time  are  fond  of  saying.     It  would  be  more  correct  to 


234  WHAT    IS   ART? 

suppose  that  art  is  iucomprehensible  to  the  great  masses, 
only  because  this  art  is  very  bad  or  even  uo  art  at  all. 
Thus  the  favourite  proof,  ua'ively  accepted  by  the  culti- 
vated crowd,  that  in  order  to  feel  art  we  must  understand 
it  (what  in  reality  means  only  to  become  trained  to  it),  is 
the  surest  indication  that  what  it  is  proposed  to  under- 
stand in  such  manner  is  either  very  bad,  exclusive  art,  or 
no  art  at  all. 

They  say :  "  The  productions  of  art  are  not  liked  by 
the  people,  because  they  are  incapable  of  understauding 
it.  But  if  the  productions  of  art  have  for  their  aim  the 
infection  of  men  with  the  sentiment  which  the  artist 
experienced,  how  can  we  speak  of  lack  of  comprehen- 
sion ? " 

A  man  of  the  masses  reads  a  book,  looks  at  a  picture, 
hears  a  drama  or  a  symphony,  and  receives  no  impressions 
whatever.  He  is  told  that  it  is  so,  because  he  cannot 
understand.  A  man  is  told  that  he  shall  see  a  certain 
spectacle,  —  he  goes  there,  and  sees  nothing.  He  is  told 
that  this  is  so  because  his  vision  is  not  prepared  for  this 
spectacle.  But  the  man  knov^s  that  he  has  excellent 
sight.  If  he  does  not  see  what  he  was  promised  he  would 
see,  he  concludes  only  this  (which  is  quite  correct),  that 
the  men  who  undertook  to  show  him  the  spectacle  have 
not  fulfilled  what  they  undertook  to  do.  Exactly  so 
and  with  exactly  as  much  justice  does  the  man  from 
the  people  judge  of  the  productions  of  the  art  of  our 
time,  which  evoke  no  sentiments  of  any  kind  in  him. 
And  so  to  say  that  a  man  is  not  moved  by  my  art,  bcr 
cause  he  is  still  too  stupid  (which  is  very  self-confident 
and  very  bold  to  say),  means  to  change  parts,  and  to 
throw  the  onus  of  the  guilty  on  the  innocent. 

Voltaire  has  said  that,  "  Tons  les  genres  sont  bons,  hors 
le  genre  ennuyeux ; "  with  nnich  greater  right  we  can  say 
of  art  that,  "  Tons  les  genres  sont  bons,  hors  celui  qu'on 
ne  comprends  pas ; "  or,  "  qui  ne  produit  pas  son  eff  et,"  be- 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  235 

cause,  what  worth  can  there  be  in  a  subject  which  does 
not  do  what  it  is  destined  for  ? 

But  the  chief  thing  is,  that  the  moment  we  admit  that 
art  may  be  art,  while  it  remains  incomprehensible  to 
some  mentally  healthy  persons,  there  is  no  reason  why 
some  circle  of  corrupted  men  should  not  create  productions 
which  tickle  their  corrupt  sensations  and  are  incompre- 
hensible to  any  one  but  themselves,  calling  these  produc- 
tions art,  which  is  actually  done  at  present  by  the  so-called 
decadents. 

The  road  which  art  has  traversed  is  like  the  super- 
position of  circles  of  diminishing  diameters  on  a  circle 
of  greater  diameter,  so  that  a  cone  is  formed,  the  apex  of 
which  is  no  longer  a  circle.  Precisely  this  has  been  done 
by  the  art  of  our  time. 


XI. 

"Becoming  poorer  and  poorer  in  contents  and  less  and 
less  comprehensible  in  form,  it  has  in  its  last  manifesta- 
tions lost  all  the  properties  of  art  and  has  given  way  to 
semblances  of  art. 

Not  only  has  the  art  of  the  higher  classes,  in  consequence 
of  its  segregation  from  the  national  art,  become  poor  in 
contents  and  bad  in  form,  that  is,  more  and  more  incom- 
prehensible, but  the  art  of  the  higher  classes  has  in  the 
course  of  time  ceased  to  be  art  and  has  given  place  to 
an  imitation  of  art. 

This  has  taken  place  from  the  following  causes.  Na- 
tional art  arises  only  when  some  man  from  the  people, 
having  experienced  some  strong  sensation,  feels  the  ne- 
cessity of  communicating  it  to  men.  But  the  art  of  the 
wealthy  classes  does  not  arise  because  the  artist  feels  the 
necessity  for  it,  but  chiefly  because  the  men  of  the  higher 
classes  demand  diversions  for  which  they  reward  well. 
The  men  of  the  wealthy  classes  demand  from  art  the  com- 
munication of  sensations  which  are  agreeable  to  them, 
and  the  artists  try  to  satisfy  these  demands.  But  it  is 
very  hard  to  satisfy  these  demands,  since  the  men  of 
the  wealthy  classes,  passing  their  lives  in  idleness  and 
luxury,  demand  constant  diversions  from  art ;  it  is,  how- 
ever, impossible  at  will  to  produce  art,  even  though  of 
the  lowest  description.  And  so  the  artists,  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  the  men  of  the  higher  classes,  had  to  work 
out  methods  by  means  of  which  they  could  produce  sub- 
jects which  resemble  art,  and  so  these  methods  were 
"worked  out. 

236 


WHAT   IS    ART  ?  237 

These  methods  are  the  following :  (1)  borrowing, 
(2)  imitation,  (3)  effectiveness,  and  (4)  entertainingness. 

The  first  method  consists  in  borrowing  from  former  pro- 
ductions of  art  either  whole  subjects,  or  only  separate 
features  of  former,  well-known  poetical  productions,  and 
in  so  transforming  them  that  with  certain  additions  they 
might  represent  something  new. 

Such  productions,  evoking  in  the  men  of  a  certain 
circle  recollections  of  artistic  sensations  experienced  be- 
fore, produce  an  impression  like  that  from  art,  and  pass 
among  men  who  seek  enjoyment  from  art  for  such,  if 
with  them  other  necessary  conditions  are  observed.  The 
subjects  which  are  borrowed  from  previous  artistic  pro- 
ductions are  generally  called  poetical  subjects,  and  objects 
and  persons  borrowed  from  previous  artistic  productions 
are  called  poetical  objects.  Thus,  in  our  circle,  all  kinds 
of  legends,  sagas,  ancient  traditions,  are  called  poetical 
subjects  ;  and  as  poetical  persons  and  objects  are  regarded 
maidens,  warriors,  shepherds,  hermits,  angels,  devils  in 
every  form,  moonlight,  storms,  mountains,  the  sea,  preci- 
pices, flowers,  long  hair,  lions,  a  lamb,  a  dove,  a  nightin- 
gale ;  as  poetical  in  general  are  regarded  all  those  objects 
which  more  than  any  other  were  employed  by  previous 
artists  for  their  productions. 

Some  forty  years  ago  a  not  clever,  but  very  cultured 
lady,  "  ayant  beaucoup  d'acquis "  (she  is  dead  now), 
called  me  to  listen  to  a  novel  which  she  had  v^ritten.  In 
this  novel  the  story  began  with  a  heroine  in  a  poetical 
forest,  near  the  water,  in  a  poetical  white  garment,  with 
poetical  flowing  hair,  reading  verses.  The  whole  took 
place  in  Eussia,  and  suddenly,  from  behind  some  bushes, 
there  appeared  the  hero  in  a  hat  with  a  feather  a  la  Guil- 
laume  Tell  (so  it  said)  and  with  two  poetical  dogs  accom- 
panying hira.  It  seemed  to  the  authoress  that  all  this 
was  very  poetical ;  and  all  would  be  well  if  the  hero  did 
not  have  to  say  something.     The  moment  the  gentleman 


238  WHAT    IS    ART? 

in  the  hat  a  la  Guillmimc  Tell  began  to  talk  with  the 
maiden  in  the  white  dress,  it  became  clear  that  the 
authoress  had  nothing  to  say,  and  that  she  was  affected 
by  the  poetical  recollections  from  previous  productions, 
and  was  thinking  that  by  rummaging  through  these  rec- 
ollections she  could  produce  an  artistic  impression.  But 
the  artistic  impression,  that  is,  the  infection,  is  had  only 
when  the  author  has  in  his  own  way  experienced  some 
kind  of  a  sensation  and  is  conveying  it,  and  not  when  he 
communicates  a  foreign  sensation,  which  has  been  com- 
municated to  him.  Such  poetry  from  poetry  cannot 
infect  men,  but  only  gives  the  semblance  of  art,  and  that, 
too,  only  to  men  with  a  corrupted  aesthetic  taste.  This 
lady  was  very  stupid  and  not  at  all  talented,  and  so  it 
was  easy  to  see  at  once  where  the  trouble  was ;  but  when 
this  borrowing  is  taken  up  by  well-read  and  talented  men, 
who,  besides,  have  worked  out  the  technique  of  their 
art,  we  get  those  borrowings  from  the  Greek,  the  ancient, 
the  Christian,  and  the  mythological  worlds,  which  have 
been  breeding  so  extensively  and  especially  now  continue 
to  appear  so  much,  and  which  are  taken  by  the  public  to 
be  productions  of  art,  if  these  borrowings  are  well  worked 
out  by  the  technique  of  that  art  in  which  they  are  made. 

As  a  characteristic  example  of  such  a  kind  of  imitation 
of  art  in  the  sphere  of  poetry  may  serve  Eostand's  Prin- 
cess Lointainc,  in  wliich  there  is  not  a  spark  of  art,  but 
which  appears  to  many  and,  no  doubt,  to  its  author  as 
exceedingly  poetical. 

The  second  method  which  gives  a  semblance  of  art 
is  what  I  called  imitation.  The  essence  of  this  method 
consists  in  rendering  the  details  which  accompany  that 
which  is  described  or  represented.  In  the  literary  art 
this  method  consists  in  describing,  down  to  the  minutest 
details,  the  appearance,  faces,  garments,  gestures,  sounds, 
apartments  of  the  acting  persons,  with  all  those  incidents 
which  occur  in  life.     Thus,  in  novels  and   stories,  they 


WHAT    IS    ART?  239 

describe,  with  every  speech  of  the  acting  person,  in  what 
voice  he  said  it,  and  what  he  did  then.  And  the  speeches 
themselves  are  nut  told  so  as  to  make  tlie  best  sense,  but 
as  incoherently  as  they  are  in  life,  with  interruptions  and 
abrupt  endings.  In  dramatic  art  this  method  consists  in 
this,  that,  in  addition  to  the  imitation  of  the  conversa- 
tions, all  the  concomitant  circumstances,  all  the  actions  of 
the  persons,  should  be  precisely  such  as  they  are  in  real 
life.  In  painting  and  sculpture  this  method  reduces 
painting  to  photography,  and  destroys  the  difference  be- 
tween photography  and  painting.  However  strange  this 
may  appear,  this  method  is  used  also  in  music:  music 
attempts  to  imitate,  not  only  by  its  rhythm,  but  even  by 
its  sounds,  those  sounds  which  in  life  accompany  that 
which  it  wishes  to  represent. 

The  third  method  is  the  appeal  to  the  external  senses, 
which  frequently  is  of  a  purely  physical  nature,  —  it  is 
what  is  called  effectiveness.  These  effects  in  all  arts  con- 
sist mainly  in  contrasts,  —  in  the  juxtaposition  of  the 
terrible  and  the  tender,  the  beautiful  and  the  monstrous, 
the  loud  and  the  quiet,  the  dark  and  the  light,  the  most 
common  and  the  most  uncommon.  In  literary  art  there 
are,  besides  the  effects  of  contrast,  other  effects  which 
consist  in  the  description  and  representation  of  what  has 
never  been  described  or  represented  before,  especially  in 
the  description  and  the  representation  of  details  which 
evoke  the  sexual  passion,  or  of  the  details  of  suffering  and 
death,  which  evoke  the  sensation  of  terror,  —  so  that,  for 
example,  in  the  description  of  a  murder  there  should  be 
a  coroner's  description  of  the  laceration  of  tissues,  of 
the  swelling,  of  the  odour,  of  the  amount  and  form  of  the 
blood.  The  same  happens  in  painting :  besides  the  con- 
trasts of  every  kind,  there  enters  into  painting  a  contrast 
which  consists  in  the  careful  execution  of  one  subject  and 
carelessness  in  regard  to  everything  else.  But  the  chief 
and  most  usual  effect  in  painting  is  the  effect  of  light  and 


240  WHAT    IS    ART  ? 

of  the  representation  of  the  terrible.  In  the  drama  the 
most  common  effects,  besides  the  contrasts,  are  storms, 
thunder,  moonlight,  actions  upon  the  sea  or  near  the  sea, 
the  change  of  costumes,  the  laying  bare  of  the  fendnine 
body,  insanity,  murder,  and,  in  general,  death,  during  which 
the  dying  give  detailed  accounts  of  all  the  phases  of  the 
agony.  In  music  the  most  usual  effects  consist  in  begin- 
ning a  crescendo  with  the  feeblest  and  most  monotonous 
sounds,  and  in  rising  to  the  strongest  and  most  complin 
cated  sounds  of  the  whole  orchestra,  or  in  repeating  the 
same  sounds  arpeggio  in  all  the  octaves  and  with  all 
the  instruments,  or  in  making  the  harmony,  the  time, 
and  the  rhythm  entirely  different  from  those  which 
naturally  result  from  the  train  of  the  musical  thought, 
so  as  to  startle  us  by  their  suddenness.  Besides,  the 
commonest  effects  in  music  are  produced  in  a  purely 
physical  way,  by  the  force  of  the  sounds,  especially  in 
the  orchestra. 

Such  are  some  of  the  more  common  effects  in  all  the 
arts ;  but,  in  addition  to  these,  there  is  still  another 
method,  common  to  all  arts,  and  this  is,  the  representation 
by  one  art  of  what  is  proper  for  another  art  to  represent, 
such  as,  that  music  should  "  describe,"  as  all  programme 
music  and  that  of  WagTier  and  his  followers  does,  or  that 
painting,  the  drama,  and  poetry  should  "  produce  a  mood," 
as  all  decadent  art  does. 

The  fourth  method  is  eutertainingness,  that  is,  a  mental 
interest  united  with  the  production  of  art.  Eutertaining- 
ness may  consist  in  an  intricate  plot,  —  a  method  which 
until  lately  was  used  in  English  novels  and  French 
comedies  and  dramas,  but  now  has  begun  to  go  out  of 
fashion  and  has  given  way  to  documentality,  that  is,  to 
detailed  descriptions  of  some  historic  period  or  some 
especial  branch  of  contemporary  life.  Thus,  for  example, 
eutertainingness  consists  in  describing  in  a  novel  the 
Egyptian  or  the  Roman  life,  or  the  life  of  the  miners, 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  241 

or  of  the  clerks  of  some  large  establishment,  and  the 
reader  is  interested,  and  this  interest  is  taken  for  an 
artistic  impressiou.  Eutertaiuingn(?ss  may  consist  in  the 
mere  methods  of  expression.  This  kind  of  eutertainiug- 
ness  has  now  become  exceedingly  common.  Poetry  and 
prose,  and  pictures,  and  the  drama,  and  musical  composi- 
tions are  produced  in  such  a  way  that  they  have  to  be 
guessed  like  rebuses,  and  this  process  of  guessing  also 
affords  pleasure  and  gives  the  semblance  of  an  impression 
received  from  art. 

Frequently  it  is  said  that  a  production  of  art  is  very 
good,  because  it  is  poetical  or  realistic,  or  effective  or 
interesting,  when  neither  the  first,  nor  the  second,  nor 
the  third,  nor  the  fourth  can  be  a  standard  of  the  value 
of  the  art  or  has  anything  in  common  with  it. 

"  Poetical "  means  "  borrowed."  Now,  every  borrowing 
is  only  a  leading  up  of  the  readers,  spectators,  or  hearers 
to  some  dim  recollection  of  those  artistic  impressions 
which  they  received  from  previous  productions  of  art,  and 
not  an  infection  with  the  sensation  which  the  artist  has 
experienced.  A  production  which  is  based  on  borrowing, 
as,  for  example,  Gothe's  Faust,  may  be  worked  out  very 
beautifully,  replete  with  sallies  of  wit  and  all  kinds  of 
beauties,  but  it  cannot  produce  a  real  artistic  impression, 
because  it  wants  the  chief  property  of  a  production  of 
art,  —  completeness,  organicalness,  —  that  is,  that  the 
form  and  the  contents  should  form  one  uninterrupted 
whole,  expressive  of  the  sensations  experienced  by  the 
artist.  By  the  borrowing  the  artist  conveys  no  other 
sensation  than  what  was  impressed  upon  him  by  the 
production  of  some  previous  art,  and  so  every  borrowing 
of  whole  subjects  or  different  scenes,  situations,  descrip- 
tions, is  only  a  reflection  of  art,  its  semblance,  and  not 
art.  And  so  to  say  of  a  certain  production  that  it  is 
good  because  it  is  poetical,  that  is,  because  it  resembles  a 
production  of  art,  is  the  same  as  saying  of  a  coin  that  it 


242  WHAT   IS    ART  ? 

Is  good,  because  it  resembles  a  real  coin.  Just  as  little 
can  the  imitation  of  realism,  as  many  think,  be  a  standard 
of  the  value  of  art.  Imitation  cannot  serve  as  a  stand- 
ard of  the  value  of  art,  because,  if  the  chief  property  of 
art  is  the  infection  of  others  with  the  sensation  described 
by  the  artist,  the  infection  with  the  sensation  not  only 
does  not  coincide  with  the  description  of  the  details  of 
what  is  being  conveyed,  but  for  the  most  part  is  impaired 
by  a  superabundance  of  details.  The  attention  of  him 
who  receives  artistic  impressions  is  distracted  by  all  these 
well-observed  details,  and  on  account  of  them  the  author's 
feeling,  if  he  has  any,  is  not  communicated. 

It  is  just  as  strange  to  value  the  production  of  art  by 
the  degree  of  its  realism  and  truthfulness  of  details  com- 
municated, as  it  is  to  judge  of  the  nutritive  value  of  food 
by  its  appearance.  When  we  define  the  value  of  a  produc- 
tion by  its  realism,  we  merely  show  by  this  that  we  are  not 
speaking  of  a  production  of  art,  but  of  an  imitation  of  it. 

The  third  method  of  imitating  art,  effectiveness,  like 
the  first  two,  does  not  coincide  with  the  concept  of  true 
art,  because  in  effectiveness,  in  the  effect  of  novelty,  sud- 
denness of  contrast,  terror,  no  sentiment  is  conveyed,  and 
there  is  only  an  effect  upon  the  nerves.  When  a  painter 
paints  beautifully  a  wound  with  blood,  the  sight  of  this 
wound  will  startle  me,  but  there  will  be  no  art  in  this. 
A  prolonged  note  on  a  mighty  organ  will  produce  a 
striking  impression,  will  frequently  even  evoke  tears,  but 
there  is  no  music  in  this,  because  no  sensation  is  conveyed. 
And  yet  it  is  just  such  physiological  effects  that  are  con- 
stantly taken  by  men  of  our  circle  to  be  art,  not  only  in 
music,  but  also  in  poetry,  painting,  and  the  drama.  They 
say  that  modern  art  has  become  refined.  On  the  con- 
trary, thanks  to  the  hunt  after  effects,  it  has  become 
extraordinarily  gross.  They  are  performing,  let  us  say, 
the  new  production  of  Hannele,  which  has  made  the 
round  of  the  theatres  of    the  whole  of    Europe,  and  in 


WHAT   IS   ART?  243 

which  the  author  wants  to  convey  to  the  public  com- 
passion for  a  tortured  girl.  To  evoke  this  feeling  in  the 
spectators  by  means  of  art,  the  author  ought  to  have  made 
one  of  his  persons  express  compassion  so  that  it  would 
infect  all  men,  or  correctly  describe  the  girl's  sensations. 
But  he  is  either  unable  or  unwilling  to  do  so,  and  chooses 
another,  more  complicated  method  for  the  stage-manager, 
but  one  that  is  easier  for  the  artist.  He  makes  the  girl 
die  on  the  stage ;  and  with  that,  to  increase  the  physio- 
logical effect  on  the  audience,  he  puts  out  the  lights  in 
the  theatre,  leaving  the  audience  in  the  dark,  and  to  the 
sounds  of  pitiful  'uusic  shows  how  the  drunken  father 
persecutes  and  beats  this  girl.  The  girl  writhes,  squeaks, 
groans,  falls.  There  appear  angels  who  carry  her  off.  And 
the  audience,  experiencing  some  agitation  at  this,  is  fully 
convinced  that  this  is  an  sesthetic  sensation.  But  in  this 
agitation  there  is  nothing  asthetical,  because  there  is  no 
infection  of  one  man  by  another,  but  only  a  mingled  feel- 
ing of  compassion  for  another  and  of  joy  for  myself  because 
I  am  not  suffering,  —  something  like  what  we  experience 
at  the  sight  of  an  execution,  or  what  the  Eomans  experi- 
enced in  their  circuses. 

The  substitution  of  effectiveness  for  the  aesthetic  feeling 
IS  particularly  noticeable  in  the  musical  art,  that  art  which 
by  its  nature  has  an  immediate  physiological  effect  upon 
the  nerves.  Instead  of  conveying  in  melody  the  author's 
sensations  as  experienced  by  him,  the  modern  musician 
accumulates,  interweaves  sounds,  and  now  intensifying, 
and  now  weakening  them,  produces  upon  the  public  a 
physiological  effect,  such  as  may  be  measured  by  an  ap- 
paratus invented  for  the  purpose.^  And  the  public 
receives  this  physiological  effect  as  the  effect  of  art. 

^  There  exists  an  apparatus  by  means  of  which  a  very  sensitive 
needle,  brought  in  relation  to  the  tension  of  the  muscle  of  the  hand, 
indicates  the  physiological  effect  of  music  upon  the  nerves  and  the 
muscles. 


^44  What  is  art? 

As  regards  the  fourth  method,  entertainingness,  this 
method,  though  more  foreign  to  art  than  any  other,  is 
more  frequently  than  any  other  mistaken  for  art.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  intentional  concealment  by  the  author  in 
his  novel  of  what  the  author  has  to  guess  about,  we  very 
frequently  get  to  hear  about  a  picture  or  about  a  musical 
production,  that  it  is  interesting.  What  is  meant  by 
"  interesting  "  ?  An  interesting  production  of  art  means 
either  that  the  production  evokes  in  us  unsatisfied  curios- 
ity, or  that,  in  being  impressed  by  a  production  of  art,  we 
receive  information  which  is  new  to  us,  or  that  the  pro- 
duction is  not  quite  comprehensible  and  we  by  degrees 
and  with  an  effort  make  our  way  to  its  comprehension  and 
in  the  divination  of  its  meaning  derive  a  certain  amount 
of  pleasure.  In  neither  case  has  the  entertainingness 
anything  in  common  with  artistic  impressions.  Art  has 
for  its  aim  the  infection  of  men  with  the  sensation  ex- 
perienced by  the  artist.  But  the  mental  effort  which  the 
spectator,  the  hearer,  the  reader,  has  to  make  for  the  grati- 
fication of  the  curiosity  evoked,  or  for  the  acquisition  of 
new  information  to  be  gained  from  the  production,  or  for 
the  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  the  production,  in 
absorbing  the  reader's,  spectator's,  hearer's  attention,  im- 
pedes the  infection.  And  so  the  entertainingness  of  a 
production  has  not  only  nothing  in  common  with  the 
worth  of  a  production  of  art,  but  rather  impedes  the  artis- 
tic impression  than  cooperates  with  it. 

Poeticalness,  and  imitation,  and  effectiveness,  and  enter- 
tainingness may  be  found  within  a  production  of  art,  but 
they  cannot  take  the  place  of  the  chief  property  of  art, 
of  the  sensation  experienced  by  the  artist.  Of  late  the 
majority  of  subjects  in  the  art  of  the  higher  classes,  which 
are  given  out  as  subjects  of  art,  are  precisely  such  as  only 
resemble  art,  and  lack  in  their  foundation  the  chief  char- 
acteristic of  art,  —  the  sensation  experienced  by  the 
artist. 


WHAT    IS    ART?  245 

To  produce  a  true  subject  of  art,  many  conditions  are 
needed.  Tliis  man  must  stand  on  the  level  of  the  highest 
world  conception  of  his  time,  and  must  have  experienced 
a  seusation  and  have  had  the  desire  and  the  chance  to 
communicate  it,  and  also  possess  the  talent  for  some  kind 
of  art.  All  these  conditions,  necessary  for  the  production 
of  true  art,  are  rarely  combined.  But  in  order,  with  the 
aid  of  methods  worked  out,  borrowing,  imitation,  effective- 
ness, and  entertainingness,  to  produce  semblances  of  art, 
which  in  our  society  are  well  rewarded,  one  needs  only  to 
have  a  talent  in  some  sphere  of  art,  w^hich  is  of  very  fre- 
quent occurrence.  By  talent  I  mean  the  ability,  in  literary 
art,  —  easily  to  express  one's  ideas  and  impressions,  and  to 
notice  and  remember  characteristic  details ;  in  plastic  art, 

the  abihty  to  distinguish,  remember,  and    reproduce 

hues,  forms,  colours ;  in  musical  art,  —  the  ability  to 
distinguish  intervals,  and  to  remember  and  reproduce  the 
consecutiveness  of  sounds.  The  moment  a  man  in  our 
day  possesses  such  a  talent,  he  is  able,  after  having  learned 
the  technique  and  the  methods  of  the  imitation  of  his  art 
(if  his  aesthetic  sense,  which  would  make  his  productions 
loathsome  to  him,  is  atrophied,  and  if  he  has  patience), 
without  interruption,  to  the  end  of  his  days,  to  compose 
productions  which  in  our  society  are  considered  to  be  art. 

For  the  production  of  such  imitations  there  exist  in 
every  kind  of  art  special  rules  or  recipes,  so  that  a  tal- 
ented man,  having  acquired  them,  is  able  a  froid,  coldly, 
without  the  slightest  feeling,  to  produce  these  articles. 
In  order  to  write  poems,  a  man  talented  in  literature  needs 
only  to  train  himself  to  be  able  in  the  place  of  each,  one, 
real,  necessary  word  to  use,  according  to  the  demand  of 
rhyme  or  measure,  other  ten  words  which  have  approxi- 
mately the  same  meaning,  and  to  train  himself  to  be  able 
to  say  every  sentence,  which,  to  be  clear,  has  only  one 
proper  arrangement  of  words,  with  all  possible  permuta- 
tions of  words,  so  that  it  should  resemble  some  sense  :  to 


246  WHAT    IS    AKT? 

train  himself  besides,  being  guided  by  words  which  occur 
to  him  on  account  of  their  rhyming,  to  invent  for  these 
words  a  semblance  of  ideas,  sentiments,  and  pictures,  and 
then  such  a  man  may  without  interruption  compose 
poems,  according  to  the  need,  short  or  long  ones,  religious, 
amatory,  or  patriotic  songs. 

But  if  the  man  with  a  talent  for  literature  wants  to 
write  stories  and  novels,  he  need  only  elaborate  a  style, 
that  is,  train  himself  to  describe  everything  he  sees,  and 
to  remember  or  note  down  details.  When  he  has  mas- 
tered this,  he  can  without  cessation  write  novels  or 
stories,  according  to  his  desire  or  according  to  demand,  — 
historical,  naturalistic,  social,  erotic,  psychological,  or  even 
religious  stories,  such  as  there  are  a  demand  and  fash- 
ion for.  His  subjects  he  can  take  from  reading  or  from  his 
own  experiences,  and  the  characters  of  the  acting  persons 
he  may  copy  from  his  acquaintances. 

Such  novels  and  stories,  so  long  as  they  are  decked  out 
with  well-observed  and  well-copied  details,  best  of  all, 
erotic  details,  will  be  regarded  as  productions  of  art, 
though  there  may  not  be  a  spark  of  sentiment  in 
them. 

For  the  production  of  art  in  the  dramatic  form,  a  tal- 
ented man  must,  in  addition  to  everything  needed  for  the 
novel  or  story,  learn  also  to  put  in  the  mouth  of  his  act- 
ing persons  as  many  bright  and  witty  remarks  as  possible, 
make  use  of  theatrical  effects,  and  be  able  so  to  inter- 
weave the  actions  of  persons  that  there  shall  not  be  one 
single  long  conversation  on  the  stage,  but  as  much  bustle 
and  motion  as  possible.  If  the  writer  is  able  to  do  so, 
he  can  without  cessation  write  dramatic  productions,  one 
after  another,  choosing  subjects  from  the  criminal  chroni- 
cles or  from  the  last  question  which  interests  society,  hke 
hypnotism,  heredity,  and  so  forth,  or  from  the  most  an- 
cient and  even  fantastic  splieres. 

A  talented  man  in  the  sphere  of  painting  or  sculpture 


WUAT   IS   AUT?  247 

can  still  more  easily  produce  articles  resembling  art.  For 
this  purpose  he  need  only  learn  to  draw,  paint,  and 
sculpture,  especially  naked  bodies.  Having  learned  this, 
he  may  without  cessation  paint  one  picture  after  another, 
and  sculpture  one  statue  after  another,  according  to  his 
inclinations,  choosing  either  mythological,  or  religious,  or 
fantastic,  or  symbolical  subjects ;  or  representing  what 
they  write  about  in  newspapers,  —  a  coronation,  a  strike, 
the  Turko-Eussian  War,  the  calamities  of  a  famine  ;  or, 
what  is  most  common,  representing  everything  which 
seems  beautiful,  —  from  a  naked  woman  to  brass  basins. 

For  the  production  of  musical  art,  a  talented  man  needs 
even  less  that  which  forms  the  essence  of  art,  that  is,  of 
a  sentiment  which  may  infect  others  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  physical,  gymnastic  labour  he  needs  more  than  for 
any  other  art,  unless  it  be  the  art  of  dancing.  For  a  mu- 
sical production  of  art  a  man  has  to  learn  to  move  his 
fingers  on  some  instrument  as  rapidly  as  those  do  who 
have  reached  the  highest  degree  of  perfection  on  it ;  then 
he  must  find  out  how  they  used  in  antiquity  to  write 
music  for  many  voices,  which  is  called  to  learn  counter- 
point, the  fugue ;  then  he  must  learn  to  orchestrate,  that 
is,  to  make  use  of  the  effects  of  the  instruments.  Having 
learned  all  this,  a  musician  can  without  cessation  write  one 
production  after  another :  either  some  programme  music, 
or  operas  and  romances,  inventing  sounds  which  more  or 
less  correspond  to  words,  or  chamber  music,  that  is,  taking 
other  men's  themes  and  working  them  over  by  means 
of  the  counterpoint  and  fugue  within  definite  forms ;  or, 
what  is  most  common,  he  can  write  fantastic  music,  that 
is,  take  any  combination  of  sounds  that  happens  to  occur 
to  him  and  upon  these  accidental  sounds  build  up  all 
kinds  of  complications  and  adornments. 

Thus,  adulterations  of  art,  which  the  public  of  our 
higher  classes  accepts  as  real  art,  are  produced  in  all  the 
spheres  of  art  according  to  a  well-defined  recipe. 


248  WHAT   IS   ART? 

It  is  this  substitution  of  adulterations  of  art  for  the 
productions  of  art  that  has  been  the  third  and  most  im- 
portant consequence  of  the  segregation  of  the  art  of  the 
highest  classes  from  the  national  art. 


XII. 

There  are  three  conditions  which  contribute  to  the  pro- 
duction in  our  society  of  articles  of  adulterated  art.  These 
conditions  are :  (1)  the  considerable  reward  of  the  artists 
for  their  productions,  and  so  the  established  professional- 
ism of  the  artists,  (2)  the  criticism  of  art,  and  (3)  the 
schools  of  art. 

So  loDg  as  art  was  not  divided,  and  nothing  but  religious 
art  was  valued  and  encouraged,  while  indifferent  art  was 
not  encouraged,  so  long  did  there  exist  no  adulterations  of 
art;  if  they  did  exist,  they  immediately  fell,  as  they 
were  condemned  by  the  whole  people.  But  the  moment 
this  division  took  place,  and  every  art,  so  long  as  it  afforded 
enjoyment,  was  considered  good  by  the  men  of  the  wealthy 
classes,  and,  affording  enjoyment,  began  to  be  rewarded 
more  than  any  other  public  activity,  a  greater  number  of 
men  at  once  devoted  themselves  to  this  activity,  and  it 
assumed  an  entirely  different  character  from  what  it  had 
before,  and  became  a  profession. 

The  moment  art  became  a  profession,  the  chief  and 
most  precious  property  of  art,  its  sincerity,  was  consider- 
ably weakened  and  partially  destroyed. 

The  professional  artist  lives  by  his  art,  and  so  he  must 
without  cessation  invent  subjects  for  his  productions,  and 
he  invents  them.  It  is  obvious  what  a  difference  tbere 
must  be  between  the  products  of  art,  when  they  were 
created  by  men  like  the  Jewish  prophets,  the  authors  of 
the  psalms,  Francis  d'Assisi,  the  author  of  the  Iliad 
and  the  Odyssey,  the  authors  of  all  the  national  fairy-tales, 
legends,  songs,  who  not  only  received  no  reward  for  their 

249 


250  WHAT    IS    ART? 

productions,  but  even  did  not  connect  their  names  with 
them,  or  when  art  was  produced  at  first  by  court  poets, 
dramatists,  and  musicians,  who  received  for  it  honour  and 
rewards,  and  that  art  which  later  has  been  produced  by 
official  artists,  who  hve  by  their  trade  and  receive  rewards 
from  journahsts,  editors,  impresarios,  in  general  from 
mediators  between  the  artists  and  the  urban  public, — 
the  consumers  of  art. 

In  this  professionalism,  the  first  condition  is  the  difi"u- 
sion  of  the  adulterated,  false  art. 

The  second  condition,  is  the  lately  arisen  criticism  of  art, 
that  is,  the  valuation  of  art,  not  by  all,  certainly  not  by 
simple,  men,  but  by  leaned,  that  is,  by  corrupted  and, 
at  the  same  time,  self-confident  men. 

A  friend  of  mine,  in  expressing  the  relation  of  the 
critics  to  the  artists,  semi-jestingly  defined  it  like  this : 
"  Critics  are  stupids,  who  are  discussing  the  wise."  This 
definition,  however  one-sided  it  is,  is  inexact  and  gross, 
but  none  the  less  includes  a  measure  of  truth  and  is  in- 
comparably more  correct  than  that  according  to  which 
critics  are  supposed  to  explain  artistic  productions. 

"  The  critics  explain."     What  do  they  explain  ? 

An  artist,  if  he  is  a  real  artist,  has  in  his  production 
conveyed  to  men  the  feeling  which  he  has  lived  through ; 
what  is  there  here  to  explain  ? 

If  the  production  is  good,  as  art,  the  sentiment  which 
the  artist  has  expressed  will,  independently  of  its  being 
moral  or  immoral,  be  communicated  to  other  men.  If  it 
has  been  communicated  to  other  men,  they  experience 
it,  and  all  interpretations  are  superfiuous.  But  if  the  pro- 
duction does  not  infect  men,  no  interpretations  will  make 
it  infectious.  It  is  impossible  to  interpret  an  artist's  pro- 
duction. If  it  were  possible  to  explain  in  words  what 
the  artist  wanted  to  say,  he  would  have  said  it  in  words. 
Rut  he  spoke  by  means  of  his  art,  because  it  was  impos- 
sible in  any  other  way  to  convey  the  sensation  which  he 


WHAT    IS    ART?  251 

experienced.  An  interpretation  in  words  of  a  product  of 
art  proves  only  that  he  who  is  iuterjjreting  is  unable  to 
be  infected  by  art.  So  it  is  and,  no  matter  how  strange 
it  may  seem,  critics  have  always  been  men  who  less  than 
any  one  else  are  able  to  be  infected  by  art.  For  the  most 
part  they  are  men  who  write  fluently,  cultured,  clever 
men,  but  with  an 'absolutely  corrupted  or  atrophied  ability 
to  be  infected  by  art.  And  so  these  men  have  with  their 
writings  considerably  contributed  to  the  corruption  of  the 
taste  of  the  public,  which  reads  them  and  beheves  in 
them. 

There  has  never  been  any  art  criticism,  and  there  could 
have  been  none  and  can  be  none  in  a  society  where  art 
has  not  divided  and  so  is  esteemed  by  the  religious  world 
conception  of  the  whole  nation.  The  art  criticism  arose 
and  could  have  arisen  only  in  the  art  of  the  higher  classes 
who  do  not  recognize  the  religious  consciousness  of  their 
time. 

National  art  has  a  definite  and  indubitable  inner  cri- 
terion, —  rehgious  consciousness ;  but  the  art  of  the  higher 
classes  does  not  have  it,  and  so  the  appreciators  of  this  art 
were  inevitably  compelled  to  hold  to  some  external  cri- 
terion. And  as  such  criterion  there  appears  to  them,  as 
the  English  a^sthetician  has  expressed  it,  the  taste  of  "  the 
best  nurtured  men,"  that  is,  the  authority  of  the  men  who 
consider  themselves  cultured,  and  not  only  this  authority, 
but  also  the  tradition  of  the  authority  of  these  men.  But 
this  tradition  is  very  faulty,  because  the  judgments  of 
these  "  best  nurtured  men  "  are  frequently  very  faulty  and 
because  the  judgments  which  were  correct  for  a  certain 
time  cease  to  be  such  after  awhile.  But  the  critics,  who 
have  no  foundations  for  their  judgments,  repeat  them  all 
the  time.  There  was  a  period  when  the  ancient  tragic 
writers  were  considered  good,  and  criticism  regards  them 
as  such.  Dante  was  thought  to  be  a  great  poet,  Ra- 
phael a  great  painter,  Bach  a  great  musician,  and  the 


252  WHAT   IS   ART? 

critics,  having  no  standard  by  which  to  separate  good 
from  bad  art,  not  only  regard  these  artists  as  great,  but 
also  all  the  productions  of  these  artists  do  they  regard  as 
great  and  worthy  of  imitation.  Notliing  has  to  such  an 
extent  contributed  to  the  corruption  of  art  as  these 
authorities,  as  estabhshed  by  criticism.  A  man  produces 
some  artistic  production,  like  any  arti«t,  expressing  in  it 
in  his  peculiar  way  the  sensations  experienced  by  him, 
—  and  the  majority  of  men  are  infected  by  the  artist's 
sensations,  and  his  production  becomes  famous.  And 
criticism,  in  passing  judgment  on  the  artist,  begins  to  say 
that  his  production  is  not  bad,  but  he  is  none  the  less  no 
Dante,  no  Shakespeare,  no  Gcithe,  no  Beethoven  of  the 
later  period,  no  Raphael.  And  the  young  artist,  hearing 
such  judgments,  begins  to  imitate  those  who  are  given 
him  as  models,  and  produces  not  only  feeble,  but  even 
adulterated,  false  productions. 

Thus,  for  example,  our  Pushkin  writes  his  minor  poems, 
Evgeni  Onyegin,  TJie  GijJsies,  liis  stories,  and  they  are 
productions  of  various  worth,  but  none  the  less  produc- 
tions of  true  art.  But  under  the  influence  of  that  false 
criticism  which  lauds  Shakespeare  he  writes  Boris  Godu- 
nov,  a  reflectiugly  cold  production,  and  this  production  of 
criticism  is  praised  and  put  up  as  a  model,  and  there 
appear  imitations  of  imitations,  Ostrovski's  Minin,  A.  Tol- 
stoy's Tsar  Boris,  and  others.  Such  imitations  of  imita- 
tions fill  all  the  hteratures  with  the  most  insignificant, 
absolutely  useless  productions. 

The  chief  harm  of  the  critics  consists  in  this,  that, 
being  men  who  are  devoid  of  the  ability  to  be  infected 
by  art  (and  all  critics  are  such :  if  they  were  not  devoid 
of  this  abihty,  they  could  not  undertake  the  impossible 
interpretation  of  artistic  productions),  the  critics  direct 
their  attention  to  reflective,  invented  productions,  which 
they  laud  and  adduce  as  models  worthy  of  imitation.  For 
this  reason  they  with  such  assurance  praise  the  Greek 


WHAT   IS   ART?  253 

tragic  writers,  Dante,  Tasso,  Milton,  Shakespeare,  Gothe 
(nearly  the  whole  of  him  without  exception) ;  of  the 
moderns  —  Zola,  Ibsen ;  the  nmsic  of  the  latest  period, 
Beethoven's,  Wagner's.  For  the  justification  of  their 
laudations  of  these  reflective,  invented  productions  they 
invent  whole  theories  (such  also  is  the  famous  theory  of 
beauty),  and  not  only  dull,  talented  men  accordiug  to 
these  theories  compose  their  productions,  but  also  true 
artists,  using  violence  on  themselves,  frequently  surrender 
themselves  to  these  theories. 

Every  false  production  which  is  lauded  by  the  critics  is 
a  door  through  which  the  hypocrites  of  art  at  once  make 
their  way. 

Only  thanks  to  the  criticisms  which  in  our  day  praise  the 
gross,  wild,  and  in  our  day  senseless  productions  of 
the  ancient  Greeks,  of  Sophocles,  Euripides,  ^schylus, 
and  especially  Aristophanes,  —  or  of  the  moderns,  of 
Dante,  Tasso,  Milton,  Shakespeare ;  in  painting  —  all  of 
Eaphael,  all  of  Michelangelo  with  his  insipid  "  The  Last 
Judgment ; "  in  music  —  all  of  Bach  and  all  of  Beethoven 
with  his  last  period,  there  have  become  possible  in  our 
day  men  like  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck,  Verlaine,  Mallarm^, 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  Klinger,  Bocklin,  Stuck,  Schneider  ; 
in  music  —  Wagner,  Liszt,  Berlioz,  Brahms,  Richard 
Strauss,  and  so  forth,  and  all  the  enormous  mass  of 
entirely  useless  imitators  of  these  imitators. 

As  the  best  illustration  of  the  harmful  influence  of 
criticism  may  serve  its  relation  to  Beethoven.  Among 
his  numberless  productions,  which  are  frequently  written 
to  order,  there  are,  in  spite  of  the  artificiality  of  their 
forms,  some  artistic  productions ;  but  he  grows  deaf,  is 
unable  to  hear,  and  begins  to  write  imaginary,  unfinished 
productions,  and  so  those  which  frequently  are  insipid 
and  incomprehensible  in  a  musical  sense.  I  know  that 
musicians  can  quite  vividly  imagine  sounds  and  hear  what 
they  are  reading ;  but  the  imagined  sounds  can  never  take 


254  WHAT   IS   ART? 

the  place  of  the  real  ones,  and  every  composer  must  hear 
his  production,  in  order  to  be  able  to  give  it  the  finishing 
touches.  Beethoven  could  not  hear,  could  not  give  the 
finishing  touches,  and  so  sent  out  into  the  world  these 
productions,  which  represented  an  artistic  delirium.  But 
criticism,  having  once  recognized  him  as  a  great  composer, 
takes  special  delight  in  sticking  to  these  same  monstrous 
productions,  and  discovers  in  them  unusual  beauties.  As 
a  justification  of  its  laudations,  it  ascribes  to  musical  art, 
distorting  the  very  concept  of  musical  art,  the  property  of 
representing  what  it  cannot  represent,  and  there  appear 
imitators,  an  endless  number  of  imitators,  of  those  mon- 
strous attempts  at  artistic  productions  which  are  written 
by  deaf  Beethoven. 

And  there  appears  Wagner,  who  at  first,  in  his  critical 
essays,  lauds  Beethoven,  particularly  during  his  last  period, 
and  brings  this  music  in  connection  with  Schopenhauer's 
mystical  theory,  which  is  as  insipid  as  Beethoven's  music 
itself,  —  namely,  that  music  is  the  expression  of  the  will, 
—  not  of  separate  manifestations  of  the  will  on  various 
stages  of  objectification,  but  of  its  very  essence,  —  and 
then  on  the  basis  of  this  very  theory  writes  his  own  music 
in  coimection  with  a  still  falser  system  of  the  union  of  all 
the  arts.  After  Wagner  there  appear  still  other  imitators, 
who  still  more  depart  from  art:  a  Brahms,  a  Eichard 
Strauss,  and  others. 

Such  are  the  results  of  criticism.  But  the  third  con- 
dition for  the  corruption  of  art,  —  the  schools  which  teach 
art,  are,  if  anything,  even  more  harmful. 

The  moment  art  became  art  for  the  class  of  wealthy 
people,  and  not  for  the  whole  nation,  it  became  a  pro- 
fession, and  as  soon  as  it  became  a  profession,  there  were 
worked  out  methods  which  teach  this  profession,  and  the 
men  who  chose  for  themselves  the  profession  of  art  began 
to  study  these  methods,  and  there  appeared  professional 
schools,  —  classes  of  rhetoric,  or  classes  of  literature,  in 


WUAT    IS    ART?  255 

the  gymnasia,  academies  for  painting,  conservatories  for 
music,  theatrical  schools  of  dramatic  art. 

In  these  schools  they  teach  art.  But  art  is  the  con- 
veyance to  other  people  of  a  special  sensation  experienced 
by  the  artist.  How,  then,  is  one  to  be  taught  this  in 
schools  ? 

No  school  can  evoke  in  a  man  any  sensation,  and  still 
less  can  it  teach  a  man  what  the  essence  of  art  consists 
in,  —  the  manifestation  of  sensations  in  his  own,  peculiar 
way. 

There  is  but  one  thing  the  school  can  teach,  and  that 
is,  how  to  convey  sensations  experienced  by  other  artists 
in  the  same  way  as  the  other  artists  conveyed  them.  It 
is  precisely  this  that  they  teach  in  the  schools  of  art,  and 
this  instruction  not  only  does  not  contribute  to  the  diffu- 
sion of  true  art,  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  disseminating 
adulterations  of  art,  more  than  anything  else  deprives 
men  of  the  possibihty  of  understanding  true  art. 

In  the  hterary  art  men  are  taught  how,  without  wishing 
to  say  anything,  to  write  a  composition  of  many  pages  on 
a  theme  on  which  they  have  never  reflected,  and  to  write 
it  in  such  a  way  that  it  may  resemble  the  compositions  of 
authors  who  are  acknowledged  to  be  famous.  It  is  this 
that  the  pupils  are  taught  in  the  gymnasia. 

In  painting,  the  chief  instruction  consists  in  drawing 
and  painting  from  originals  and  from  Nature,  particularly 
the  naked  body,  which  is  never  seen,  and  which  a  man 
who  is  occupied  with  true  art  hardly  ever  has  occasion  to 
represent,  and  to  draw  and  paint  as  previous  masters  used 
to  draw  and  to  paint ;  and  they  are  taught  to  compose  pic- 
tures, giving  them  themes  the  like  of  which  have  been 
treated  before  by  acknowledged  celebrities.  Similarly, 
pupils  in  dramatic  schools  are  taught  to  pronounce  mono- 
logues just  as  they  were  pronounced  by  such  as  were 
considered  to  be  famous  tragedians.  The  same  is  true  of 
music.     The  whole  theory  of  music  is  nothing  but  a  dis- 


256  WHAT   IS   ART? 

connected  repetition  of  those  methods  which  the  acknowl- 
edged masters  of  composition  used  for  their  musical 
themes. 

I  have  already  somewhere  mentioned  the  profound 
utterance  of  the  Russian  painter  Bryulov  about  art,  and  I 
cannot  refrain  from  quoting  him  again,  because  it  shows 
better  than  anything  what  they  can  and  what  they  ought 
to  teach  in  the  schools.  In  correcting  a  pupil's  study, 
Bryulov  barely  touched  it  up  in  a  few  places,  and  the 
poor,  dead  study  suddenly  revived.  "  You  have  barely 
touched  it  up,  and  all  is  changed,"  said  one  of  the  pupils. 
"  Art  begins  where  the  hardy  begins,"  said  Bryulov,  giving 
with  these  words  utterance  to  the  most  characteristic 
feature  of  art.  This  remark  is  true  for  all  the  arts,  but 
its  correctness  is  particularly  noticeable  in  the  execution 
of  music.  In  order  that  a  musical  execution  may  be 
artistic,  may  be  art,  that  is,  that  it  may  produce  an  infec- 
tion, three  chief  conditions  have  to  be  observed.  (Besides 
these  conditions,  there  are  many  other  conditions  for 
musical  perfection :  it  is  necessary  that  the  transition 
from  one  sound  to  another  should  be  abrupt  or  blending, 
tliat  the  sound  should  evenly  increase  or  decrease,  that  it 
should  combine  with  such  a  sound  and  not  with  another, 
that  the  sound  should  have  such  and  such  a  timbre,  and 
many  other  things.)  But  let  us  take  the  three  chief  con- 
ditions, —  the  height,  the  time,  and  the  force  of  the  sound. 
A  musical  execution  is  an  art  and  infects  a  person,  only 
when  the  sound  is  neither  higher  nor  lower  than  what  it 
ought  to  be,  that  is,  when  there  is  taken  that  infinitely 
small  medium  of  the  note  demanded,  and  when  the  note 
shall  be  protracted  precisely  as  much  as  it  ought  to  be, 
and  when  the  force  of  the  note  shall  be  neither  stronger 
nor  weaker  than  what  is  necessary.  The  least  deviation 
in  the  height  of  the  sound  in  either  direction,  the  slightest 
increase  or  decrease  of  time,  and  the  slightest  intensifica- 
tion or  weakening  of  the  sound  in  comparison  with  what 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  257 

is  demanded,  destroys  the  perfectiou  of  the  execution,  and 
so  the  infectiousness  of  the  production.  Thus  the  infection 
through  the  art  of  music,  which  it  seems  is  so  simple  and 
so  easily  evoked,  is  received  by  us  only  when  the  per- 
former finds  those  infinitely  small  moments  which  are 
demanded  for  the  perfection  of  music.  The  same  is  true 
of  all  arts :  barely  brighter,  barely  darker,  barely  higher, 
lower,  more  to  the  right,  more  to  the  left,  —  in  painting ; 
barely  weakening  or  intensifying  the  intonation,  —  in 
dramatic  art ;  or  something  is  done  just  a  little  earlier, 
just  a  little  later,  barely  underdone,  overdone,  exaggerated, 
—  in  poetry,  and  there  is  no  infection.  Infection  is  ob- 
tained only  when,  and  to  the  extent  in  which,  the  artist 
finds  those  infinittdy  small  moments  of  which  the  produc- 
tion of  art  is  composed.  But  there  is  no  possibility  of 
teaching  one  in  an  external  way  to  discover  these  infinitely 
small  moments :  they  are  found  only  when  a  man  aban- 
dons himself  to  a  sensation.  No  instruction  can  make  a 
dancer  fall  in  with  the  beat  of  the  music,  and  a  singer  or 
violin  player  take  the  infinitely  small  mean  of  a  note,  and 
a  person  who  draws  draw  the  one  possible  and  necessary 
line,  and  a  poet  find  the  one  needed  permutation  of  the  one 
needed  series  of  words.  All  this  is  discovered  by  the 
feeling  alone.  And  so  the  schools  can  teach  only  what 
is  needed  in  order  to  do  something  which  resembles  art, 
but  by  no  means  art  itself. 

The  instruction  of  the  schools  stops  where  the  hardy 
begins,  consequently,  where  art  begins. 

The  training  of  men  to  do  what  resembles  art  disaccus- 
toms them  to  understand  true  art.  From  this  results  the 
fact  that  there  are  no  duller  persons  in  art  than  those 
who  have  passed  through  the  professional  schools  of  art 
and  have  made  the  best  progress  in  them.  These  pro- 
fessional schools  produce  a  hypocrisy  of  art,  precisely 
like  the  religious  hypocrisy  which  is  produced  by  the 
schools  which  instruct  preachers  and  all  kinds  of  religious 


258  WHAT   IS   ART? 

teachers  in  general.  Just  as  impossible  as  it  is  to  teach 
men  to  become  religious  teachers  of  men,  so  it  is  impos- 
sible to  teach  a  man  to  become  an  artist. 

Thus  the  art  schools  are  doubly  pernicious  to  art :  in 
the  first  place,  by  killing  the  ability  of  reproducing  true 
art  in  the  men  who  have  had  the  misfortune  of  getting 
into  these  schools  and  taking  a  course  of  seven,  eight,  or 
ten  years  in  them ;  in  the  second,  by  breeding  at  an  enor- 
mous rate  that  adulterated  art  which  corrupts  the  taste 
of  the  masses,  such  as  our  world  is  full  of.  But  in  order 
that  men,  born  artists,  may  be  able  to  learn  the  methods 
of  all  kinds  of  arts,  as  they  have  been  worked  out  by 
previous  artists,  all  primary  schools  ought  to  have  such 
classes  of  drawing  and  of  music,  —  of  singing,  —  so  that 
any  talented  man,  who  has  gone  through  them,  may 
make  use  of  the  existing  and  accessible  models  and  then 
independently  perfect  himself  in  his  art. 

It  is  these  three  conditions,  the  professionalicm  of  the 
artists,  the  criticism,  and  the  schools  of  art  that  have 
produced  this  result,  that  the  majority  of  the  men  of  our 
time  absolutely  fail  to  comprehend  what  art  is  and  accept 
the  grossest  adulterations  of  art  for  art  itcelf. 


XIII. 

To  what  extent  the  men  of  our  circle  and  of  our  time 
have  become  devoid  of  the  ability  to  perceive  true  art 
and  have  become  accustomed  to  accept  as  art  such  objects 
as  have  nothing  in  common  with  it,  can  best  of  all  be 
seen  in  the  productions  of  Eichard  Wagner,  which  of  late 
have  come  to  be  esteemed  and  acknowledged  more  and 
more,  not  only  by  the  Germans,  but  also  by  the  French 
and  the  English,  as  the  very  highest  art,  which  has 
opened  new  horizons. 

The  peculiarity  of  Wagner's  music,  as  is  well  known, 
consists  in  this,  that  music  must  serve  poetry,  by  express- 
ing all  the  shades  of  a  poetic  production. 

The  union  of  the  drama  with  music,  invented  in  the 
fifteenth  century  in  Italy  for  the  purpose  of  reestablish- 
ing the  imagined  old  Greek  drama  with  its  music,  is  an 
artificial  form,  which  has  had  success  only  among  the 
highest  classes,  and  then  only  when  talented  musicians, 
like  Mozart,  Weber,  Eossini,  and  others,  inspired  by  the 
dramatic  subject,  freely  abandoned  themselves  to  their 
inspiration,  subordinating  the  text  to  the  music,  for  which 
reason  it  was  the  music  to  a  given  text  that  in  their 
operas  was  of  importance  to  the  hearer,  and  by  no  means 
the  text,  which,  even  though  it  was  most  senseless,  as, 
for  example,  in  the  Magic  Flute,  none  the  less  did  not 
interfere  with  the  artistic  impression  of  the  music. 

Wagner  wants  to  improve  the  opera  by  subordinating 
the  music  to  the  demands  of  poetry  and  blending  it  with 
them.  But  every  art  has  its  definite  sphere,  which  does 
not  coincide  with  the  other  arts,  but  only  touches  upon 

259 


260  WHAT    IS    ART? 

them ;  and  so,  if  the  manifestations,  not  only  of  many,  but 
even  of  only  two,  arts,  the  dramatic  and  the  musical,  are 
united  into  one  whole,  the  demands  of  one  art  will  not 
give  a  chance  to  execute  the  demands  of  another,  which 
indeed  has  always  been  the  case  with  the  common  opera, 
where  the  dramatic  art  was  subordinated,  or  rather,  gave 
way,  to  the  musical  art.  But  Wagner  wants  the  musical 
art  to  be  subordinated  to  the  dramatic,  and  both  to 
manifest  themselves  in  all  their  force.  This  is  impossible, 
because  every  production  of  art,  if  it  is  a  true  production 
of  art,  is  the  expression  of  the  artist's  intimate  feehugs, 
and  exclusive,  resemblmg  nothing  else.  Such  is  the  pro- 
duction of  music,  and  such  is  the  production  of  dramatic 
art,  if  it  is  true  art.  And  so,  for  the  production  of  one  art 
to  coincide  with  that  of  another,  the  impossible  has  to 
happen.  Two  productions  of  art  from  different  spheres 
have  to  be  absolutely  exclusive  and  different  from  any- 
thing which  has  existed  before,  and  at  the  same  time 
they  are  to  coincide  and  must  absolutely  resemble  one 
another. 

This  cannot  be,  just  as  there  cannot  be  two  men,  or 
even  two  leaves  on  a  tree,  that  are  perfectly  alike. 
Still  less  can  two  productions  of  various  spheres  of 
art  —  of  the  musical  and  the  hterary  —  be  absolutely 
alike.  If  they  coincide,  either  one  is  an  artistic  produc- 
tion and  the  other  an  adulteration,  or  both  are  adultera- 
tions. Two  living  leaves  cannot  perfectly  resemble  one 
another,  but  two  artificial  leaves  may.  The  same  is  true 
of  productions  of  art.  They  can  fully  coincide  only  when 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  is  art,  but  both  are  an 
invented  semblance  of  art. 

If  poetry  and  music  may  unite  more  or  less  in  a  hymn, 
a  song,  a  romance  (and  even  then  not  in  such  a  way  that  the 
music  follows  every  verse  of  the  text,  as  Wagner  wants, 
but  that  each  of  them  produces  the  same  mood),  this  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  poetry  and  music  have  partly  one 


WHAT   IS    AET?  261 

and  the  same  aim,  —  the  evoking  of  a  mood,  and  the 
moods  produced  by  lyrical  poetry  and  music  may  more 
or  less  coincide.  But  even  in  these  combinations  the 
centre  of  gravity  is  always  in  one  of  the  two  produc- 
tions, so  that  only  one  produces  an  artistic  impression, 
while  the  other  remains  unnoticed.  Much  less  can 
there  be  such  a  union  between  epic  or  dramatic  poetry 
and  music. 

Besides,  one  of  the  chief  conditions  of  artistic  creation 
is  the  artist's  complete  liberty  from  all  preconceived 
demands.  But  the  necessity  to  adapt  one's  musical  pro- 
duction to  the  production  of  poetry,  or  vice  versa,  is  such 
a  preconceived  demand  that  every  possibihty  of  creation 
is  destroyed,  and  so  productions  of  this  kind,  which  are 
adapted  to  one  another,  have  always  been,  and  always 
must  be,  productions,  not  of  art,  but  only  of  its  semblance, 
like  music  in  melodramas,  legends  under  pictures,  illus- 
trations, librettos  in  operas. 

And  such  also  are  Wagner's  productions.  We  see  the 
confirmation  of  this  in  the  fact  that  in  Wagner's  new 
music  there  is  absent  the  cMef  feature  of  every  true  ar- 
tistic production,  —  completeness,  organicalness,  —  when 
the  least  change  of  form  impairs  the  meaning  of  the 
whole  production.  In  a  true  artistic  production,  —  in 
a  poem,  drama,  picture,  song,  symphony,  —  it  is  impos- 
sible to  take  a  single  verse,  or  scene,  or  figure,  or 
beat  out  of  its  place  and  put  it  into  another  without 
impairing  the  meaning  of  the  whole  production,  just  as 
it  is  impossible  to  avoid  impairing  the  life  of  an  organic 
being,  if  an  organ  is  taken  out  of  its  place  and  is  put  into 
another.  But  with  Wagner's  music  of  the  last  period, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few,  quite  insignificant  passages, 
which  have  an  independent,  musical  meaning,  it  is  possible 
to  make  all  kinds  of  permutations  and  transpose  what 
was  in  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  vice  versa,  without 
altering  the  musical  sense.     The  reason  why  with  this 


262  WHAT   IS   ART? 

the  sense  of  Wagner's  music  is  not  altered  is  because  it 
lies  in  the  words,  and  not  in  the  music. 

The  musical  text  of  Wagner's  operas  is  like  what  a 
versifier  would  do,  —  such  as  there  are  plenty  of  to-day, 
—  who,  having  contorted  his  tongue  in  such  a  way  that 
he  is  able  for  every  theme,  for  every  rhyme,  for  every 
measure  to  write  verses  which  resemble  verses  that  make 
sense,  should  take  it  into  his  head  with  his  verses  to 
illustrate  some  one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies  or  sonatas, 
or  a  ballad  by  Chopin,  by  writing  for  the  first  beats  of 
one  character  such  verses  as  in  his  opinion  correspond 
to  these  first  beats ;  and  then  should  for  the  following 
beats  of  another  character  write  other  corresponding 
verses,  without  any  inner  connection  with  the  first 
verses  and,  besides,  without  rhyme  and  without  any 
measure.  Such  a  production  without  music  would  in 
a  poetical  sense  precisely  resemble  Wagner's  operas  in  a 
musical  sense,  if  they  were  listened  to  without  any  text. 

But  Wagner  is  not  only  a  musician,  he  is  also  a  poet, 
or  both  at  the  same  time,  and  so,  to  judge  Wagner,  we 
must  also  know  his  text,  —  that  very  text  to  which  the 
music  is  to  minister.  Wagner's  chief  poetical  production 
is  the  poetical  elaboration  of  the  Nihclung.  This  pro- 
duction has  in  our  time  received  such  an  enormous 
importance  and  has  such  an  influence  on  everything 
which  is  now  given  out  as  art,  that  it  is  necessary  for 
every  man  of  our  time  to  have  an  idea  about  it.  I  have 
attentively  read  the  four  little  books  in  which  this  pro- 
duction is  printed,  and  have  made  a  short  extract  from 
it,  which  I  give  in  the  second  appendix,  and  I  earnestly 
advise  the  reader,  if  he  has  not  read  the  text  itself,  a 
thing  which  would  be  best  of  all,  at  least  to  read  my 
exposition,  in  order  to  form  an  idea  of  this  remarkable 
production.  This  production  is  a  specimen  of  the  grossest 
adulteration  of  poetry,  so  gross  as  even  to  be  ridiculous. 

But,  they  say,  it  is  not   possible  to    judge  Wagner's 


WHAT   IS   ART?  263 

productions,  unless  one  has  seen  them  on  the  stage.  This 
winter  they  gave  in  Moscow  the  second  day,  or  the  sec- 
ond act,  of  this  drama,  which,  I  was  told,  was  the  best 
of  all,  and  I  attended  this  performance. 

When  I  arrived,  the  immense  theatre  was  already  full 
from  top  to  bottom.  Here  were  grand  dukes  and  the 
flower  of  the  aristocracy,  and  of  the  merchant  class,  and 
of  the  learned  profession,  and  of  the  middle  class  official 
urban  public.  The  majority  had  librettos  in  their  hands, 
trying  to  make  out  the  meaning  of  the  opera.  The 
musicians,  —  some  of  them  old,  gray-haired  men,  —  with 
the  scores  in  their  hands,  followed  the  music.  Appar- 
ently the  execution  of  this  production  was  an  important 
event. 

I  was  a  little  late,  but  I  was  told  that  the  short  prelude, 
with  which  the  act  begins,  has  little  significance,  and  that 
this  omission  was  not  important.  On  the  stage,  amidst 
scenery  which  was  supposed  to  represent  a  cave  in  a 
rock,  in  front  of  an  object  which  was  supposed  to  repre- 
sent a  blacksmith's  arrangement,  there  sat  an  actor 
dressed  in  tights  and  in  a  mantle  of  skins,  in  a  wig,  with 
a  false  beard,  and  with  his  white,  feeble  hands,  unwonted 
to  work  (by  his  agile  movements,  but  cliiefiy  by  his  belly 
and  absence  of  muscles,  the  actor  may  be  told),  he  was  strik- 
ing with  a  hammer,  such  as  never  has  existed,  at  a  sword, 
such  as  can  positively  not  exist,  and  he  was  striking  in  a 
manner  in  which  no  one  ever  strikes  with  a  hammer,  and, 
while  doing  this,  he  opened  his  mouth  in  a  strange 
manner  and  sang  something  which  could  not  be  under- 
stood. Music  from  various  instruments  accompanied 
these  strange  sounds  which  he  uttered.  From  the  libretto 
one  could  learn  that  the  actor  was  supposed  to  represent 
a  mighty  dwarf  who  was  living  in  a  grotto  and  forging  a 
sword  for  Siegfried,  whom  he  had  brought  up.  You 
could  tell  that  he  was  a  dwarf,  because  he  walked  all  the 
time  bending  at  the  knee  his  legs  in  the  tights.     Opening 


264  WHAT    IS    ART? 

his  mouth  in  the  same  strange  manner,  this  actor  for  a 
long  time  did  something  intermediate  between  singing 
and  shouting.  The  music  at  the  same  time  ran  over 
something  strange,  some  beginnings  of  something,  which 
did  not  last  and  did  not  end  with  anything.  From  the 
libretto  one  could  learn  that  the  dwarf  was  talking  to 
himself  about  a  ring  which  a  giant  had  got  possession 
of  and  which  he  wished  to  obtain  through  Siegfried ; 
now,  Siegfried  needed  a  good  sword,  and  so  the  dwarf 
was  busy  forging  that  sword. 

After  this  character's  long  talk  or  singing  to  himself, 
other  sounds  are  suddenly  heard  in  the  orchestra,  and 
they,  too,  somehow  have  no  beginning  and  no  end.  There 
appears  another  actor  with  a  horn  over  his  shoulder,  and 
a  man  running  on  his  hands  and  feet,  disguised  as  a  bear, 
and  with  this  bear  he  attacks  the  blacksmith-dwarf,  who 
runs  away  without  unbending  his  knees  in  the  tights. 
This  other  actor  is  supposed  to  represent  the  hero  Sieg- 
fried himself.  The  sounds  which  are  heard  in  the 
orchestra  at  the  entrance  of  this  actor  are  supposed  to 
represent  Siegfried's  character  and  are  called  Siegfried's 
Leit-motiv.  These  sounds  are  repeated  every  time  that  Sieg- 
fried makes  his  appearance.  There  is  one  certain  combi- 
nation of  sounds  into  a  Leit-motiv  for  every  person.  Thus 
the  Leit-motiv  is  repeated  every  time  when  the  person 
represented  by  it  makes  his  appearance ;  even  at  the 
mention  of  a  person  the  Motiv  corresponding  to  that 
person  is  heard.  More  than  this :  every  object  has  its 
Leit-motiv  or  chord.  There  is  a  Motiv  of  the  ring,  a 
Motiv  of  the  helmet,  a  Motiv  of  the  apple,  the  fire,  the 
spear,  the  sword,  the  water,  etc.,  and  the  moment  mention 
is  made  of  the  ring,  the  helmet,  the  apple,  we  get  the 
Motiv  or  the  chord  of  the  helmet,  the  apple. 

The  actor  with  the  horn  opens  his  mouth  as  unnaturally 
as  the  dwarf,  and  for  a  long  time  yells  out  his  words  in  a 
singsong  way,  and    is   answered    in  the    same    singsong 


WHAT   IS   ART?  265 

way  by  Mime,  —  that  is  the  name  of  the  dwarf.  The 
meaning  of  this  conversation,  which  one  can  learn  only 
from  the  libretto,  is  this,  that  Siegfried  was  brought  up 
by  the  dwarf  and  for  this  somehow  despises  him  and 
wants  to  kill  him.  The  dwarf  has  forged  the  sword  for 
Siegfried,  but  Siegfried  is  dissatisfied  with  the  sword. 
From  the  ten-page  conversation  (according  to  the  li- 
bretto), which  for  half  an  hour  is  conducted  with  the 
same  strange  singsong  openings  of  the  mouth,  it  can  be 
seen  that  Siegfried's  mother  bore  him  in  the  forest,  and 
that  of  his  father  nothing  is  known  but  that  he  had  a 
sword,  which  was  broken  and  fragments  of  which  are  in 
Mime's  possession,  and  that  Siegfried  knows  no  fear  and 
wants  to  get  out  of  the  forest,  while. IMime  does  not  let 
him  go.  During  this  musical  conversation  there  are  never 
forgotten,  at  the  mention  of  the  father,  the  sword,  and  so 
forth,  the  Motivs  of  these  persons  and  objects. 

After  these  conversations  on  the  stage  there  resound 
new  sounds,  those  of  the  God  Wotan,  and  a  pilgrim 
makes  his  appearance.  This  pilgrim  is  God  Wotan.  This 
God  Wotan,  himself  in  a  wig  and  in  tights,  standing  in  a 
stupid  attitude  with  his  spear,  for  some  reason  is  telling 
everything  which  Mime  cannot  help  but  know,  but  which 
the  spectators  have  to  be  told  about.  He  does  not  tell  all 
this  in  a  simple  way,  but  in  the  form  of  riddles,  which  he 
commands  to  be  put  to  him,  for  some  reason  pledging  his 
head  that  he  will  guess  them.  With  this  the  pilgrim  strikes 
his  spear  against  the  ground,  and  every  time  he  does  so, 
fire  issues  from  the  earth,  and  in  the  orchestra  are  heard 
the  sounds  of  the  spear  and  of  the  fire.  The  conversation 
is  accompanied  by  the  orchestra,  in  which  are  artificially 
interwoven  the  Motivs  of  the  persons  and  the  objects 
spoken  of.  Besides,  the  sensations  are  in  a  most  naive 
manner  expressed  by  means  of  the  music  :  the  terrible,  — 
those  are  the  sounds  of  the  bass ;  the  frivolous,  —  those 
are  q^uick  passages  in  soprano,  and  so  forth. 


266  WHAT   IS    ART? 

The  riddles  have  no  other  meaning  than  to  tell  the 
spectators  who  the  Nibelungs,  the  giants,  the  gods  are,  and 
what  was  before.  This  conversation,  through  strangely 
opened  mouths,  takes  also  place  in  a  singsong  manner, 
and  lasts  according  to  the  libretto  for  eight  pages,  and 
correspondingly  long  on  the  stage.  After  this  the  pilgrim 
goes  away,  and  Siegfried  comes  back  and  talks  with  Mime 
in  thirteen  pages.  There  is  not  a  single  tune,  but  all  the 
time  nothing  but  an  interweaving  of  the  Leit-motivs  of 
the  persons  and  objects  of  the  conversation.  The  con- 
versation turns  on  this,  that  Mime  wants  to  teach  Sieg- 
fried what  terror  is,  while  Siegfried  does  not  know  what 
terror  is.  Having  finished  this  conversation,  Siegfried 
seizes  what  is  to  represent  a  fragment  of  a  sword,  saws 
it  to  pieces,  puts  it  on  what  is  supposed  to  represent  the 
forge,  melts  it,  and  then  forges  it,  and  sings,  "  Heaho, 
heaho,  hoho !  Hoho,  hoho,  hoho,  hoho ;  hoheo,  haho, 
haheo,  hoho,"  and  the  first  act  is  ended. 

The  question  for  which  I  had  come  to  the  theatre  was 
for  me  answered  indubitably,  as  indubitably  as  the  ques- 
tion of  the  worth  of  the  story  by  my  lady  acquaintance, 
when  she  read  to  me  a  scene  between  the  maiden  with 
the  flowing  hair  in  a  white  dress,  and  the  hero  with  two 
white  dogs  and  a  feathered  hat  ^  la  Quillaumc  Tell. 

From  an  author  who  can  compose  such  false  scenes 
as  I  witnessed  here,  which  cut  the  a?sthetic  feeling  as 
though  with  knives,  nothing  else  could  be  expected ;  a 
man  may  boldly  make  up  his  mind  that  everything 
which  such  an  author  mav  write  will  be  bad,  because 
such  an  author  does  not  apparently  know  what  a  true 
artistic  production  is.  I  wanted  to  go  away,  but  my 
friends,  with  whom  I  was  there,  begged  me  to  stay,  assur- 
ing me  that  it  is  impossible  to  form  an  opinion  by  this 
one  act,  and  that  it  would  be  better  in  the  second,  —  and 
so  I  remained  for  the  second  act. 

The  act  —  night.    Then  it  dawns.    The  whole  perform- 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  267 

ance  in  general  is  full  of  dawnings,  mists,  moonshines, 
darkness,  magic  fires,  storms,  and  so  forth. 

The  scene  represents  a  forest,  and  in  the  forest  there  is 
a  cave.  Near  the  cave  sits  a  third  actor,  representing 
another  dwarf.  It  is  dawning.  God  Wotan  with  the 
spear  comes  again,  and  again  in  the  form  of  a  pilgrim. 
Again  there  are  his  sounds,  new  sounds,  the  deepest  bass 
that  can  be  produced.  These  sounds  indicate  that  the 
dragon  is  speaking.  Wotan  wakens  the  dragon.  The  same 
bass  sounds  are  heard,  but  deeper  and  deeper  down.  At 
first  the  dragon  says,  "  I  want  to  sleep,"  but  later  he 
crawls  out  from  the  cave.  The  dragon  is  represented  by 
two  men  dressed  in  a  green  skin  in  the  form  of  scales  ; 
on  one  side  they  wag  a  tail,  and  on  the  other  they  open 
the  jaws,  like  a  crocodile's,  which  is  attached  to  them, 
and  from  which  issues  fire  from  an  electric  lamp.  The 
dragon,  which  is  supposed  to  be  terrible,  and,  no  doubt, 
may  appear  so  to  children  of  five  years  of  age,  pronounces 
certain  words  in  bellowing  bass.  All  this  is  so  stupid 
and  such  a  cheap  show  that  one  only  marvels  how  people 
of  more  than  seven  years  of  age  can  seriously  attend  such 
a  performance;  but  thousands  of  quasi-cultivated  people 
sit  and  listen  attentively,  and  look,  and  are  delighted. 

Enter  Siegfried  with  his  horn  and  Mime.  In  the 
orchestra  are  heard  sounds  which  indicate  them,  and 
Siegfried  and  Mime  discuss  as  to  whether  Siegfried 
knows  what  terror  is.  After  this  Mime  goes  away,  and 
there  begins  a  scene  which  is  supposed  to  be  most  poetical. 
Siegfried,  in  his  tights,  lies  down  in  what  is  supposed  to 
be  a  beautiful  pose,  and  now  is  silent,  and  now  talks  to 
himself.  He  meditates,  listens  to  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
and  wants  to  imitate  them.  For  this  purpose  he  cuts  a 
reed  with  his  sword,  and  makes  himself  a  pipe.  Day 
dawns  more  and  more,  and  the  birds  sing.  Siegfried  tries 
to  imitate  the  birds.  In  the  orchestra  is  heard  an  imita- 
tion of  the  birds,  mingling  with  the  sounds  which  corre- 


268  WHAT   IS   ART? 

spond  to  the  words  which  he  speaks.  But  Siegfried  is  not 
successful  with  his  playing  on  the  pipe,  and  he  blows  his 
horn.  This  scene  is  unbearable.  There  is  not  even  a  sign 
of  any  music,  that  is,  of  the  art  which  serves  as  a  means 
for  the  communication  of  the  mood  experienced  by  the 
author.  There  is  here  something  perfectly  incomprehen- 
sible in  a  musical  seuse.  In  a  musical  sense  one  con- 
stantly experiences  hope,  after  which  there  immediately 
follows  disappointment ;  it  is  as  though  a  musical  thought 
began,  but  was  immediately  cut  short.  If  there  is  some- 
thing resembling  incipient  music,  these  beginnings  are  so 
short,  so  obstructed  with  complications  of  harmony,  orches- 
tration, and  effects  of  contrasts,  so  obscure,  so  unfinished, 
and  the  falsity  of  what  is  taking  place  on  the  stage  is 
withal  so  abominable,  that  it  is  difficult  to  notice  them,  to 
say  nothing  of  being  infected  by  them.  But  above  all 
else,  the  author's  intention  is  so  audible  and  so  visible  in 
every  note,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  that  one  does 
not  see  and  hear  Siegfried  or  the  birds,  but  only  the 
narrow-minded,  self-conceited,  bad  tone  and  taste  of  a 
German  who  has  the  most  absolutely  wrong  ideas  about 
poetry  and  who  in  the  grossest  and  most  primitive 
manner  possible  wants  to  convey  to  me  these  wrong  con- 
ceptions of  poetry. 

Everybody  knows  that  feeling  of  distrust  and  opposi- 
tion which  is  provoked  by  the  palpable  intention  of  the 
author.  A  story-teller  need  but  say  in  advance,  "  Get 
ready  to  weep  or  to  laugh,"  and  you  will  be  sure  not  to 
w^eep  or  to  laugh  ;  and  when  you  see  that  the  author  pre- 
scribes admiration  for  what  is  not  only  not  admirable, 
but  even  ridiculous  or  detestable,  and  when  you  at  the 
same  time  see  that  the  author  is  unquestionably  sure  that 
he  has  captivated  you,  you  get  a  heavy,  painful  sensation, 
something  like  what  a  man  would  experience  if  an  old, 
ugly  woman  should  attire  herself  in  a  ball-dress  and 
should  smilingly  circle  around  in  front  of  him,  being  sure 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  269 

of  his  sympathy.  This  impression  was  increased  by  the 
fact  that  all  about  me  I  saw  a  crowd  of  three  thousand 
people,  who  not  only  submissively  listened  to  this  incred- 
ible insipidity,  but  even  considered  it  their  duty  to  go 
into  ecstasies  over  it. 

I  somehow  managed  to  sit  through  the  next  scene  with 
the  appearance  of  the  monster,  which  was  accompanied 
by  his  bass  notes,  interwoven  with  Siegfried's  Motiv,  the 
struggle  with  the  monster,  all  his  bellowiugs,  the  fires, 
the  swinging  of  the  sword,  but  I  was  absolutely  unable 
to  stand  it  any  longer,  and  ran  out  of  the  theatre  with  an 
expression  of  disgust,  which  I  am  even  now  unable  to 
forget. 

As  I  listened  to  this  opera,  I  involuntarily  thought  of 
an  honourable,  clever,  literate  village  labourer,  especially 
one  of  those  clever,  truly  religious  men  whom  I  know 
among  the  masses,  and  I  imagined  the  terrible  perplexity 
at  which  such  a  man  would  arrive,  if  he  were  shown  what 
I  saw  on  that  evening. 

What  would  he  say,  if  he  learned  of  all  those  labours 
which  were  spent  on  this  performance,  and  saw  the  public, 
those  mighty  ones  of  this  world,  whom  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  respecting,  those  old,  bald-headed  men  with  gray 
beards,  who  sit  six  solid  hours  in  silence,  listening  atten- 
tively and  looking  at  aU  these  stupid  things.  But,  to  say 
nothing  of  a  grown  labourer,  it  is  hard  even  to  imagine  a 
child  of  more  than  seven  years,  who  could  busy  himself 
with  tliis  stupid,  senseless  fairy-tale. 

And  yet  an  enormous  audience,  the  flower  of  the  cul- 
tured men  of  the  highest  classes,  sit  through  these  six 
hours  of  a  senseless  performance,  and  go  home,  imagining 
that,  having  paid  their  tribute  to  this  piece  of  stupidity, 
they  have  acquired  a  new  right  to  recognize  themselves 
as  a  leading  and  enlightened  audience. 

I  am  speaking  of  a  Moscow  audience.  But  what  is  a 
Moscow  audience  ?    It  is  one  hundredth  part  of  that  public 


270  WHAT    IS    ART? 

which  considers  itself  most  enHghtened,  and  which  re- 
gards it  as  its  desert  that  it  has  to  such  an  extent  lost 
the  ability  to  be  infected  by  art,  that  it  not  only  can 
without  indignation  be  present  at  this  stupid  falsity,  but 
even  he  in  raptures  over  it. 

In  Baireuth,  where  tliese  performances  began,  people 
arrived  from  all  the  corners  of  the  world,  spending  as 
much  as  one  thousand  roubles  to  each  person,  in  order  to 
see  this  performance,  —  people  who  consider  themselves 
to  be  refined  and  cultivated,  —  and  for  four  days  in  succes- 
sion they  sat  each  day  through  six  hours,  in  order  to  see 
and  hear  this  insipidity  and  falsity. 

But  why  have  people  been  travelling,  and  why  do  they 
even  now  travel,  to  see  these  performances,  and  why  are 
they  in  raptures  over  them  ?  Involuntarily  there  arises 
the  question :  how  is  the  success  of  Wagner's  productions 
to  be  explained  ? 

I  explain  to  myself  this  success  by  this,  that,  thanks  to 
the  exclusive  position  in  which  Wagner  was,  having  at  liis 
command  the  king's  means,  he  with  great  cleverness  made 
use  of  all  the  methods  of  adulterated  art,  which  had  been 
worked  out  by  a  long  practice  in  false  art,  and  produced  a 
model  adulterated  production  of  art.  I  purposely  took 
this  production  as  a  model,  because  in  none  of  the 
adulterations  of  art  known  to  me  is  there  such  a  masterly 
and  forceful  combination  of  all  the  methods  by  means  of 
which  art  is  adulterated,  namely,  borrowing,  imitation, 
effectiveness,  and  entertainingness. 

Beginning  with  a  subject  taken  from  antiquity,  and 
ending  with  mists  and  moon  and  sun  rises,  Wagner  in 
this  production  makes  use  of  everything  which  is  re- 
garded as  poetical.  Here  we  find  the  sleeping  beauty, 
and  nymphs,  and  subterranean  fires,  and  gnomes,  and 
battles,  and  swords,  and  love,  and  incest,  and  a  monster, 
and  the  singing  of  birds,  —  the  whole  arsenal  of  poetical- 
ness  is  brought  into  action. 


Siegfried  fighting  the  dragon. 


WHAT    IS    ART?  271 

With  this,  everything  is  imitative,  —  the  scenery  and 
the  costumes  are  imitative.  Everything  is  done  in  the 
way  in  which,  from  all  the  data  of  archceology,  it  must 
have  l)een  done  in  antiquity,  —  the  very  sounds  are  imi- 
tative. Wagner,  who  was  not  devoid  of  musical  talent, 
invented  such  sounds  as  precisely  imitate  the  strokes  of 
the  hammer,  the  hissing  of  iron  at  white  heat,  the  singing 
of  birds,  and  so  forth. 

Besides,  in  this  production  everything  is  to  the  highest 
degree  strikingly  effective  —  striking  by  its  very  pecu- 
liarities, by  its  monsters,  its  magic  fires,  its  actions  which 
take  place  in  the  water,  its  darkness,  in  which  the 
spectators  are,  the  invisibility  of  the  orchestra,  its  new, 
never  before  employed,  harmonious  combinations. 

Besides,  everything  is  entertaining.  The  interest  is 
not  only  in  who  will  get  killed,  and  by  whom,  who  will 
get  married  and  to  whom,  whose  son  this  man  is,  and 
what  will  happen  later  —  the  interest  is  also  in  the 
relation  of  the  music  to  the  text :  the  waves  roll  in  the 
Ehine,  —  how  will  this  be  expressed  in  music  ?  An  evil 
dwarf  makes  his  appearance,  —  how  will  the  music  ex- 
press the  evil  dwarf  ?  How  will  the  music  express  the 
dwarf's  sensuality  ?  How  will  valour,  fire,  apples  be  ex- 
pressed by  music  ?  How  does  the  Leit-motiv  of  the 
speaker  interweave  with  the  Leit-motivs  of  the  persons 
and  objects  of  which  he  speaks?  Besides,  the  music 
itself  is  interesting.  It  departs  from  all  formerly  accepted 
laws,  and  in  it  appear  the  most  unexpected  and  completely 
new  modulations  (which  is  very  easy  and  quite  possible 
in  a  music  which  has  no  inner  legality).  The  dissonances 
are  new,  and  they  are  solved  in  a  novel  way,  and  this, 
too,  is  interesting. 

This  poeticalness,  imitation,  startling  effects,  and 
entertainingness  are  in  these  productions,  thanks  to  the 
peculiarities  of  Wagner's  talent  and  to  that  advantageous 
position  in  which  he  was,  carried  to  the  highest  degree 


272  WHAT    IS    ART? 

of  perfection,  and  act  upon  the  hearer  by  hypnotizing 
him,  something  in  the  way  a  man  would  be  hypnotized 
who  for  the  period  of  several  hours  should  be  listening  to  an 
insane  man's  delirium  pronounced  with  great  oratorical  art. 

I  am  told,  "  You  cannot  judge,  if  you  have  not  seen 
Wagner's  productions  at  Baireuth,  in  the  dark,  where  the 
music  is  not  visible,  being  under  the  stage,  and  the  execu- 
tion i«  carried  to  the  highest  degree  of  perfection."  This 
proves  that  the  matter  is  not  in  the  art,  but  in  the  hypno- 
tization.  It  is  precisely  what  the  spiritualists  say.  To  con- 
vince one  of  the  truth  of  their  visions,  they  generally  say  : 
"  You  cannot  judge ;  investigate  it,  be  present  at  several  st- 
ances, that  is,  sit  in  silence  in  the  dark  for  several  hours 
in  succession  in  the  company  of  half -insane  persons,  and 
repeat  this  about  ten  times,  and  you  will  see  everything 
we  see." 

How  can  a  man  help  seeing  it  ?  Put  yourself  just 
under  such  conditions,  and  you  will  see  everything  you 
wish.  It  is  still  easier  to  attain  this  by  drinking  wine 
or  smoking  opium.  The  same  is  true  of  listening  to 
Wagner's  operas.  Sit  in  the  dark  for  four  days  in  suc- 
cession, in  the  company  of  not  quite  normal  men,  subject- 
ing your  brain  to  the  most  powerful  influence,  by  means 
of  the  auditory  nerves,  of  sounds  most  calculated  to  irritate 
the  braiu,  and  you  will  certainly  arrive  at  an  abnormal 
state  and  will  go  into  ecstasies  over  insipidities.  How- 
ever, for  this  purpose  one  does  not  need  four  days :  for 
this  the  five  hours  of  one  day,  during  which  one  perform- 
ance lasts,  as  was  the  case  in  Moscow,  are  sufficient.  And 
it  is  not  only  the  five  hours  that  are  sufficient ;  one  hour 
will  do  for  men  who  have  no  clear  conception  of  what 
art  ought  to  be,  and  who  have  formed  an  opinion  in 
advance  that  what  they  will  see  is  beautiful,  and  that 
indifference  and  dissatisfaction  with  this  production  will 
serve  as  a  proof  of  their  lack  of  culture  and  of  their  back- 
wardness. 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  273 

I  watched  the  audience  at  the  performance  which  I 
attended.  The  men  who  guided  the  whole  audience  and 
gave  it  tone  were  such  as  had  been  hypnotized  in  advance 
and  who  again  surrendered  themselves  to  a  familiar 
hypnosis.  These  hypnotized  men,  being  in  an  abnormal 
state,  v^'ere  in  full  ecstasy.  Besides,  all  the  art  critics, 
who  are  devoid  of  the  ability  to  be  infected  by  art  and  so 
show  especial  appreciation  of  productions  in  which  every- 
thing is  a  matter  of  reason,  as  in  Wagner's  opera,  also 
profoundly  approved  of  a  production  which  gives  rich 
food  to  mental  processes.  After  these  two  divisions  of 
men  there  came  that  great  urban  crowd,  with  princes, 
nabobs,  and  patrons  of  art  at  its  head,  with  its  corrupted 
and  partly  atrophied  ability  to  be  infected  by  art,  and 
indifferent  to  it,  always,  like  poor  hunting-dogs,  clinging 
to  those  who  most  determinately  express  their  opinion. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course !  "What  poetry  !  Wonderful !  Par- 
ticularly the  birds  !  "  —  "  Yes,  yes,  I  am  quite  vanquished." 
These  men  repeat  in  all  kinds  of  voices  what  they  have 
just  heard  from  men  whose  opinion  seems  to  them  to 
deserve  confidence. 

If  there  are  people  who  are  offended  by  the  insipidity 
and  falsity,  they  timidly  keep  quiet,  just  as  sober  people 
are  timid  and  keep  quiet  among  those  who  are  drunk. 

And  thus  a  senseless,  gi'oss,  false  production,  which 
has  nothing  in  common  with  art,  thanks  to  the  mastery 
of  adulterated  art,  makes  the  round  of  the  whole  world,  • 
costs  millions  in  staging  it,  and  more  and  more  corrupts 
the  tastes  of  the  men  of  the  higher  classes  and  their  con- 
ception of  what  art  is. 


XIV. 

I  KNOW  that  the  majority  of  men  who  not  only  are 
considered  to  be  clever,  but  who  really  are  so,  who 
are'  capable  of  comprehending  the  most  difficult  scientific, 
mathematical,  philosophical  discussions,  are  very  rarely 
able  to  understand  the  simplest  and  most  obvious  truth, 
if  it  is  such  that  in  consequence  of  it  they  will  have  to 
admit  that  the  opinion  which  they  have  formed  of  a  sub- 
ject, at  times  with  great  effort,  —  an  opinion  of  which 
they  are  proud,  which  they  have  taught  others,  on  the 
basis  of  which  they  have  arranged  their  whole  life,  — 
that  this  opinion  may  be  false.  And  so  I  have  not  much 
hope  that  the  proofs  which  I  adduce  in  regard  to  the  cor- 
ruption of  art  and  of  taste  in  our  society  will  be  accepted 
or  even  seriously  discussed  ;  still,  I  must  finish  telling 
what  my  investigation  has  inevitably  led  me  to.  This 
investigation  has  led  me  to  the  conclusion  that  nearly 
everything  which  is  considered  to  be  art,  —  good  art  and 
all  art  in  our  society,  —  is  not  only  not  true  and  good  art, 
but  not  even  art  at  all :  it  is  only  an  adulteration  of 
art.  This  proposition,  I  know,  is  very  strange  and  sounds 
paradoxical,  but  if  we  only  admit  the  correctness  of  the 
statement  that  art  is  a  human  activity  by  means  of  which 
one  set  of  men  convey  their  sensations  to  another,  and 
not  a  ministration  to  beauty,  or  the  manifestation  of  an 
idea,  etc.,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  admit  it.  If  it  is  true 
that  art  is  an  activity  by  means  of  which  one  man, 
having  experienced  a  sensation,  consciously  conveys  it 
to  another,  we  shall  be  forced  to  admit  that  in  everything 
which  among  us  is  called  the  art  of  the  higher  classes,  — 

274 


WHAT   IS   ART?  275 

in  all  those  novels,  stories,  dramas,  comedies,  pictures, 
sculptures,  symphonies,  operas,  operettas,  ballets,  etc., 
which  are  given  out  as  productions  of  art,  hardly  one  in 
a  hundred  thousand  is  due  to  a  sensation  experienced  by 
its  author  ;  everything  else  is  nothing  but  factory  products, 
adulterations  of  art,  in  which  borrowings,  imitation,  effect- 
iveness, and  entertainingness  take  the  place  of  infection 
by  a  sensation. 

That  the  number  of  true  productions  of  art  are  to  the 
number  of  these  adulterations  as  one  is  to  one  hundred 
thousand  and  even  more,  may  be  proved  by  the  following 
calculation.  I  read  somewhere  that  in  Paris  alone  there  are 
thirty  thousand  painters.  The  same  number  there  must  be 
in  England,  the  same  in  Germany,  the  same  in  Russia  and 
Italy  and  the  other  minor  countries.  Thus  there  must  be 
something  like  120,000  painters  in  Europe  ;  there  are,  no 
doubt,  as  many  musicians  and  as  many  artist  authors.  If 
these  three  hundred  thousand  men  produce  no  more  than 
three  productions  a  year  (many  of  them  produce  ten  or 
more),  each  year  will  give  one  million  productions  of  art. 
How  many,  then,  have  there  been  in  the  last  ten  years, 
and  how  many  for  the  whole  time  that  the  art  of  the 
higher  classes  has  been  separated  from  that  of  the  masses  ? 
Obviously  millions  of  them,  Wlio  of  the  greatest  con- 
noisseurs of  art  has  really  received  an  impression  from  all 
these  so-called  productions  of  art  ?  To  say  nothing  of 
all  the  working  people,  who  have  no  conception  about  all 
these  productions,  the  men  of  the  higher  classes  cannot 
know  one  thousandth  part,  and  do  not  remember  those 
which  they  knew  anything  about.  All  these  objects 
appear  under  the  form  of  art,  produce  no  impression  on 
anybody,  except  at  times  the  impression  of  a  diversion  on 
the  idle  crowd  of  rich  men,  and  disappear  without  leaving 
a  trace.  In  reply  to  this  we  are  told  that,  if  there  were 
no  enormous  quantity  of  failures,  there  would  also  be  no 
real  productions  of  art.     But  such  a  reflection  is  like  one 


276  WHAT   IS   ART^ 

a  baker  would  make  in  response  to  the  reproach  that  his 
bread  is  good  for  nothiug,  which  is,  that  if  there  were  not 
hundreds  of  spoiled  loaves,  there  would  not  be  one  well- 
baked  loaf.  It  is  true  that  where  there  is  gold  there  is 
also  much  sand  ;  but  this  can  by  no  means  serve  as  an 
excuse  for  saying  a  lot  of  insipid  things  m  order  to  say 
something  clever. 

We  are  surrounded  by  productions  which  are  considered 
artistic.  We  have  side  by  side  thousands  of  poems,  thou- 
sands of  poetic  stories,  thousands  of  dramas,  thousands  of 
pictures,  thousands  of  musical  productions.  All  poems 
describe  love  or  Nature,  or  the  author's  mental  state,  and 
measure  and  rhyme  are  observed  in  them  all ;  all  dramas 
and  comedies  are  exquisitely  staged  and  beautifully  per- 
formed by  trained  actors ;  all  novels  are  divided  into 
chapters,  and  in  all  love  is  described,  and  there  are  effect- 
ive scenes,  and  correct  details  of  life  are  described ;  all 
symphonies  contain  an  allegro,  an  andante,  a  scherzo,  and 
a  finale,  and  all  of  them  consist  of  modulations  and  chords, 
and  are  performed  by  exquisitely  trained  musicians  ;  all 
pictures,  in  golden  frames,  give  sharply  outlined  repre- 
sentations of  persons  and  their  accessories.  But  among 
these  productions  of  all  kinds  of  art  there  is  one  among 
hundreds  of  thousands,  whicli  is  not  exactlv  a  little  better 
than  any  other,  but  is  distinguished  from  all  the  others  as 
a  diamond  is  distinguished  from  glass.  One  cannot  be 
bought  at  any  price,  so  precious  it  is ;  the  other  has  not 
only  no  price,  but  even  a  negative  value,  because  it  de- 
ceives and  corrupts  taste.  But  in  their  appearance  they 
are  absolutely  the  same  to  a  man  with  a  corrupt  and 
atrophied  feehng. 

The  difficulty  of  telling  artistic  productions  in  our 
society  is  increased  by  the  fact  that  the  external  worth  of 
the  work  in  the  false  productions  is  not  only  not  worse, 
but  fr(>.quently  even  better  than  in  the  true  productions ; 
an  adulterated  article  often  startles  a  person  more  than 


WHAT   IS   ART?  277 

one  which  is  real,  and  the  contents  of  an  adulterated  article 
are  more  interesting.  How  is  one  to  choose  ?  How  is 
one  to  find  this  one  out  of  a  hundred  thousand  of  produc- 
tions, which  in  appearance  does  in  no  way  differ  from 
such  as  are  intentionally  made  to  look  like  a  real  one  ? 

For  a  man  with  an  uncorrupted  taste,  for  a  labouring 
man,  one  who  is  not  from  the  city,  this  is  as  easy  as  it  is 
easy  for  an  animal  with  an  uncorrupted  instinct  to  discover 
in  the  forest  or  the  field  the  one  track,  out  of  thousands, 
which  it  needs.  The  animal  wall  find  without  fail  what 
it  needs ;  even  so  a  man,  if  only  his  natural  qualities  are 
not  distorted  in  him,  will  out  of  a  thousand  objects  un- 
erringly choose  the  true  subject  of  art  which  he  needs, 
infecting  it  with  the  sensation  experienced  by  the  artist ; 
but  it  is  not  so  for  people  with  a  taste  which  is  spoiled 
by  education  and  by  life.  The  sense  which  receives  art 
is  atrophied  in  them,  and  in  the  valuation  of  artistic  pro- 
ductions thoy  have  to  be  guided  by  reflection  and  by 
study,  and  this  reflection  and  this  study  completely  con- 
fuse them,  so  that  the  majority  of  the  men  of  our  society 
are  absolutely  unable  to  distinguish  a  production  of  art 
from  the  coarsest  adulteration  of  the  same.  People  sit 
for  hours  at  concerts  and  in  theatres,  listening  to  the  pro- 
ductions of  new  composers,  and  feel  themselves  obliged 
to  read  the  novels  of  famous  new  novelists  and  to  ex- 
amine pictures,  which  represent  either  something  incom- 
prehensible, or  all  the  time  exactly  what  they  see  much 
better  in  reahty  ;  and,  above  all,  they  consider  it  obligatory 
to  go  into  raptures  over  all  these  things,  imagining  that 
all  these  things  are  objects  of  art,  and  pass  by  real  products 
of  art,  not  only  without  attention,  but  even  with  con- 
tempt, merely  because  in  their  circle  these  are  not  included 
among  the  objects  of  art. 

The  other  day  I  was  coming  home  from  a  walk  in  an 
oppressed  state  of  mind.  As  I  approached  the  house, 
I  heard  the  loud  singing  of  a  large   choir  of   peasant 


278  WHAT    IS    ART? 

women.  They  were  welcoming  my  daughter,  who  had 
heen  married  and  was  visiting  at  my  house.  In  this  sing- 
ing, with  their  shouts  and  striking  against  the  scythes, 
there  was  expressed  such  a  definite  feeling  of  joy,  alacrity, 
energy,  that  I  did  not  notice  myself  how  I  was  infected 
by  this  sensation,  and  walked  toward  the  house  with 
greater  vivacity  and  reached  it  all  brightened  up  and 
happy.  In  the  same  state  of  excitation  I  found  all  the 
home  folk  who  had  heard  the  singing.  That  same  even- 
ing we  had  a  visit  from  a  fine  musician  who  was  famous 
for  his  execution  of  classical  productions,  especially  those 
by  Beethoven,  and  he  played  for  us  Beethoven's  sonata, 
Opus  101. 

I  consider  it  necessary  to  remark,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  might  refer  my  judgment  in  regard  to  this 
sonata  of  Beethoven  to  my  lack  of  comprehension,  that, 
being  very  susceptible  to  music,  I  understood  as  well  as 
anybody  everything  which  people  understand  in  this 
sonata  and  in  the  other  things  of  Beethoven's  last  period. 
For  a  long  time  I  put  myself  into  such  a  mood  that  I 
admired  these  formless  improvisations,  which  make  the 
contents  of  the  compositions  of  Beethoven's  last  period ; 
but  I  needed  only  to  assume  a  serious  attitude  to  the 
matter  of  art,  comparing  the  impression  received  from 
the  productions  of  Beethoven's  last  period  with  that 
pleasant,  clear,  and  strong  musical  impression  which,  for 
example,  one  receives  from  the  melodies  of  Bach  (his 
arias),  Haydu,  Mozart,  Chopin,  —  where  their  melodies 
are  not  obstructed  with  complications  and  adornments,  — 
and  of  the  same  Beethoven  in  the  first  period,  but  chiefly 
with  the  impression  received  from  the  Itahan,  Norwegian, 
Kussian  popular  song,  from  the  Hungarian  Csardas,  and 
so  forth,  and  immediately  there  was  destroyed  that  ob- 
scure and  almost  morbid  irritation  artificially  evoked  by 
me  from  the  productions  of  Beethoven's  last  period. 

At  the  end  of  the  performance,  the  persons  present, 


WHAT   IS   ART?  279 

though  it  was  evident  that  it  had  all  been  tiresome  to 
them,  began,  as  such  thiugs  are  generally  done,  vigorously 
to  praise  Beethoven's  profound  production,  without  forget- 
ting to  mention  that  formerly  people  had  not  understood 
this  last  period,  but  that  it  really  was  the  best.  When 
I  allowed  myself  to  compare  the  impression  produced  on 
me  by  the  singing  of  the  peasant  women,  which  had  also 
been  experienced  by  those  who  had  heard  that  singing, 
with  this  sonata,  the  lovers  of  Beethoven  only  smiled  con- 
temptuously, considering  it  unnecessary  to  answer  such 
strange  remarks. 

And  yet  the  song  of  the  women  was  true  art,  which 
conveyed  a  definite  and  strong  sensation,  while  Beethoven's 
one  hundred  and  first  sonata  was  only  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt at  art,  which  contained  no  definite  feeling  and  so 
could  not  infect  any  one. 

For  my  work  on  art  I  diligently  and  with  much  labour 
read  this  winter  the  famous  novels  and  stories  which  are 
praised  by  all  of  Europe,  those  by  Zola,  Bourget,  Huys- 
mans,  Kipling.  At  the  same  time  I  came  across  a  story 
in  a  children's  periodical,  by  an  entirely  unknown  writer, 
which  told  of  the  preparations  which  wei'e  being  made  for 
Easter  in  a  widow's  poor  family.  The  story  tells  with 
what  dithculty  the  mother  obtained  some  white  flour, 
which  she  spread  on  the  table,  in  order  to  knead  it,  after 
which  she  went  to  fetch  some  yeast,  having  told  the 
children  not  to  leave  the  room  and  to  watch  the  flour. 
The  mother  went  away,  and  the  neighbouring  children 
ran  with  a  noise  under  the  window,  inviting  them  to 
come  out  into  the  street  to  play.  The  children  forgot 
their  mother's  command,  ran  out  into  the  street,  and 
engaged  in  a  game.  The  mother  returns  with  the  yeast ; 
in  the  room  a  hen  is  on  the  table,  scattering  on  the  earth 
floor  the  last  of  the  flour  to  her  chicks,  which  pick  it  out 
of  the  dust.  The  mother  in  despair  scolds  her  children, 
the  children  yell.    And  the  mother  pities  her  children  ;  but 


280  WHAT    IS    ART? 

there  is  no  white  flour  left,  and,  to  find  help  out  of  the 
calamity,  the  mother  decides  that  she  will  bake  Easter 
bread  out  of  sifted  black  flour,  smearing  it  with  the  white 
of  an  egg,  and  surrounding  it  with  eggs. 

"  Black  bread  —  the  white  loaf's  grandfather,"  the 
mother  quotes  the  proverb  to  the  children,  to  console 
them  for  not  having  an  Easter  bread  baked  of  white 
flour.  And  the  children  suddenly  pass  •  from  despair  to 
joyous  raptures,  and  in  different  voices  repeat  the  proverb 
and  with  greater  merriment  wait  for  the  Easter  bread. 

Well  ?  The  reading  of  the  novels  and  stories  by  Zola, 
Bourget,  Huysmans,  Kipling,  and  others,  with  the  most 
pretentious  of  subjects,  did  not  move  me  for  a  moment ; 
I  was,  however,  all  the  time  annoyed  at  the  authors,  as 
one  is  annoyed  at  a  man  who  considers  you  so  naive  that 
he  does  not  even  conceal  that  method  of  deception  with 
which  he  wishes  to  catch  you.  Erom  the  very  first  lines 
you  see  the  intention  with  which  the  story  is  written,  and 
all  the  details  become  useless,  and  you  feel  annoyed. 
Above  all  else,  you  know  that  the  author  has  no  other 
feeling  than  the  desire  to  write  a  story  or  a  novel,  and 
that  he  never  had  any  other  feeling.  And  so  you  receive 
no  artistic  impression  whatever ;  but  I  could  not  tear  my- 
self away  from  the  story  of  tlie  unknown  author  about  the 
children  and  tlie  chicks,  because  I  wns  at  once  infected  by 
the  sensation  which  obviously  the  author  had  gone  through, 
experienced,  and  conveyed. 

We  have  a  painter,  Vasnetsov.  He  has  painted  images 
for  the  Kiev  Cathedral ;  all  praise  him  as  the  founder  of 
some  high,  new  kind  of  Cliristian  art.  ■  He  worked  on 
these  pictures  for  tens  of  years,  he  was  paid  tens  of  thou- 
sands for  them,  and  all  these  images  are  a  miserable  imi- 
tation of  an  imitation  of  imitations,  which  does  not 
contain  a  spark  of  any  sentiment.  This  same  Vasnetsdv 
painted  for  Turgc^nev's  story.  The  Quail  (it  tells  of  how  a 
father  in  the  presence  of  his  boy  killed  a  quail  and  was 


WHAT    IS    ART?  281 

sorry  for  it),  a  picture,  in  which  is  represented  a  boy 
sleeping  with  wide-open  upper  lip,  while  the  quail  is 
above  him,  as  a  vision.  This  picture  is  a  true  production 
of  art. 

In  the  English  Academy  there  are  side  by  side  two 
pictures,  —  one  of  these,  by  J.  C.  Dalmas,  represents  the 
temptation  of  St.  Anthony.  The  saint  is  kneeling,  and 
praying.  Behind  him  stands  a  naked  woman  and  some 
animals.  It  is  evident  that  the  painter  took  a  fancy  to  the 
woman,  but  that  he  had  no  use  for  Anthony,  and  that 
the  temptation  was  not  only  not  terrible  to  him  (the 
painter),  but  even  in  the  highest  degree  enjoyable.  And 
so,  if  there  is  any  art  in  this  picture,  it  is  very  bad  and 
false.  In  the  same  book  there  is  side  by  side  with  this 
a  small  picture  by  Langley,  representing  a  transient  beggar 
boy  whom  a  woman,  evidently  taking  pity  on  him,  has 
called  into  the  house.  The  boy  is  pitifully  contracting 
his  bare  legs  under  the  bench,  and  eating  ;  the  woman  is 
looking  on,  apparently  supposing  that  the  boy  may  want 
more,  and  a  girl  of  seven  years  of  age,  leaning  her  head 
on  her  hand,  is  looking  attentively  and  -seriously  at  the 
boy,  without  taking  her  eyes  off  him,  having  evidently 
come  to  understand  for  the  first  time  what  poverty  is, 
and  what  the  inequality  of  men  is,  and  for  the  first  time 
asking  herself  the  question,  why  she  has  everythmg,  while 
this  one  is  barefoot  and  hungry.  She  both  is  sorry  for 
him  and  feels  joy.  She  loves  the  boy  and  the  good.  And 
one  feels  that  the  artist  loved  this  girl  and  that  wdiich  she 
loved.  And  this  picture,  it  seems,  of  a  little  known  artist, 
is  a  beautiful,  true  production  of  art. 

I  remember,  I  once  saw  Hamlet  performed  by  Eossi ; 
both  the  tragedy  and  the  actor  who  played  the  chief  part 
are  by  our  critics  considered  to  be  the  last  word  of  the 
dramatic  art.  And  yet  I  experienced  all  the  time,  both 
from  the  contents  of  the  drama,  and  from  the  performance, 
that  pecuhar  suffering  which  is  produced  by  false  iraita- 


282  WHAT    IS    ART? 

tions  of  the  productions  of  art.  Lately  I  read  an  account 
of  the  theatre  among  the  wild  people  of  the  Voguls.  One  of 
the  persons  present  describes  the  following  performance : 
one,  a  tall  Vogul,  the  other,  small,  both  dressed  in  deer- 
skins, represent,  one,  a  doe,  the  other,  her  fawn.  A  third 
Vogul  represents  a  hunter  on  snowshoes  and  with  a  bow  ; 
a  fourth  by  his  voice  represents  a  bird,  which  warns  the 
doe  of  the  danger.  The  drama  consists  in  this,  that 
the  hunter  is  running  on  the  track  of  the  doe  with  her 
fawn.  The  deer  run  away  from  the  scene  and  come  back 
again.  This  performance  is  taking  place  in  a  small  felt 
tent.  The  hunter  comes  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  pursued 
animals.  The  fawn  is  worn  out  and  presses  close  to  his 
mother.  The  doe  stops  to  take  a  rest,  the  hunter  runs  up 
and  aims  at  her.  Just  then  the  bird  squeaks,  warning  the 
deer  of  the  danger.  The  deer  run  away.  Again  there  is 
a  pursuit,  and  again  the  hunter  comes  near,  catches  up 
with  them,  and  discharges  his  arrow.  The  arrow  strikes 
the  fawn.  The  fawn  cannot  run,  presses  close  to  his 
mother,  and  she  licks  his  wound.  The  hunter  draws 
another  arrow.  •  The  spectators,  so  the  eye-witness  tells, 
become  breathless,  and  in  the  audience  are  heard  deep 
sobs  and  even  weeping.  I  felt  from  the  description  alone 
that  this  was  a  true  production  of  art. 

What  I  say  will  be  accepted  as  a  senseless  paradox,  at 
which  one  can  only  marvel,  and  yet  I  cannot  help  but  say 
what  I  think,  namely,  that  the  people  of  our  circle,  of 
whom  some  compose  verses,  stories,  novels,  operas,  sym- 
phonies, sonatas,  paint  pictures  of  all  kinds,  chisel  sculp- 
tures, while  others  listen  and  look  on,  while  others  again 
value  and  criticize  all  this,  discuss,  condemn,  celebrate, 
raise  monuments  to  one  another,  and  so  for  several  genera- 
tions, —  that  all  these  people,  with  exceedingly  few  excep- 
tions, the  artists,  the  public,  and  the  critics,  never,  except 
in  their  first  childhood  and  youth,  when  they  have  not 
yet  heard  any  discussions  about  art,  have  experienced  that 


WHAT    IS    ART?  283 

simple  sensation,  familiar  to  the  simplest  man  and  even 
to  a  child,  of  infection  by  the  sensations  of  another  person, 
which  makes  one  rejoice  at  another  man's  joy,  weep  at 
another  man's  sorrow,  unite  one's  soul  with  that  of  another 
man,  and  which  forms  the  essence  of  the  art,  and  that, 
therefore,  these  men  not  only  are  unable  to  distinguish 
an  object  of  true  art  from  its  adulteration,  but  always 
accept  the  worst  and  most  adulterated  art  as  true  and 
beautiful,  while  they  do  not  even  notice  true  art,  because 
the  adulterations  are  always  more  painted  up,  while  true 
art  is  always  modest. 


XV. 

In  our  society  art  has  become  so  much  corrupted,  that 
not  only  bad  art  has  come  to  be  regarded  as  good,  but 
there  has  even  been  lost  the  very  conception  of  what  art 
is,  so  that,  in  order  to  speak  of  the  art  of  our  society,  it  is 
necessary  first  of  all  to  segregate  true  art  from  the  adul- 
terations. 

The  sign  which  segregates  true  art  from  its  adulterations 
is  this  indubitable  one,  —  the  infectiousness  of  art.  If  a 
man  without  any  activity  on  his  part  and  without  any 
change  of  his  position,  in  reading,  hearing,  seeing  the  pro- 
duction of  another  man,  experiences  a  state  of  mind  which 
unites  him  with  that  man  and  with  others  who,  like  him, 
apperceive  the  subject  of  art,  then  the  subject  which 
evokes  such  a  state  is  a  subject  of  art.  No  matter  how 
poetical,  how  seemingly  real,  how  effective  or  entertaining 
a  subject  may  be,  it  is  not  a  subject  of  art,  if  it  does  not 
evoke  in  man  that  sensation  of  joy  which  is  distinct  from 
all  other  sensations,  that  union  of  one's  soul  with  another 
(the  author)  and  with  others  (the  hearers  or  spectators) 
who  perceive  the  same  artistic  production. 

It  is  true,  this  sign  is  internal,  and  men  who  have 
forgotten  the  effect  produced  by  true  art  and  expect 
from  art  something  different,  —  and  there  is  an  immense 
majority  of  such  in  our  society,  —  may  think  that  that 
feeling  of  diversion  and  of  some  excitement,  which  they 
experience  from  the  adulterations  of  art,  is  the  aesthetical 
feeUng,  and  although  it  is  impossible  to  change  the  minds 
of  these  men,  just  as  it  is  impossible  to  convince  a  colour- 

284 


WHAT   IS   ART?  285 

blind  person  that  green  is  not  red,  this  sign  none  the  less 
remains  fully  detiued  for  people  with  an  uncorrupted 
and  uuatrophied  feeling  in  matters  of  art,  and  clearly 
determines  the  sensation  produced  by  art  from  any 
other. 

The  chief  peculiarity  of  this  sensation  is  this,  that  the 
receiver  to  such  an  extent  blends  with  the  artist  that  it 
seems  to  him  that  the  subject  perceived  by  him  was  not 
made  by  any  one  else,  but  by  him,  and  that  everything 
expressed  by  this  subject  is  the  same  which  he  had  been 
wanting  to  express  for  a  long  time.  A  true  production  of 
art  has  this  effect,  that  in  the  consciousness  of  the  per- 
ceiver,  there  is  destroyed  the  division  between  him  and 
the  artist,  and  not  only  between  him  and  the  artist,  but 
also  between  him  and  all  men  who  are  perceiving  the 
same  production  of  art.  In  this  liberation  of  the  person- 
ality, from  its  separation  from  other  men,  from  its  seclusion, 
in  this  blending  of  the  personality  with  others  does  the 
chief  attractive  force  and  property  of  art  consist. 

If  a  man  experiences  this  sensation,  is  infected  by  the 
mental  condition  in  which  the  author  is,  and  feels  his 
blending  with  other  men,  the  subject  which  evokes  this 
state  is  art ;  if  this  infection  is  lacking,  and  there  is  no 
blending  with  the  author  and  with  those  who  perceive 
the  production,  there  is  no  art.  More  than  this :  not  only 
is  the  infectiousness  a  certain  sign  of  art,  but  the  degree 
of  the  infection  is  the  only  standard  of  the  value  of  art. 

The  stronger  the  infection,  the  better  is  the  art  as  art, 
not  to  speak  of  its  contents,  that  is,  independently  of  the 
value  of  those  sensations  which  it  conveys. 

Art  becomes  more  or  less  infectious  in  consequence  of 
three  conditions  :  (1)  in  consequence  of  a  greater  or  lesser 
peculiarity  of  the  sensation  conveyed  ;  (2)  in  consequence 
of  a  greater  or  lesser  clearness  of  the  transmission  of  this 
sensation ;  and  (3)  in  consequence  of  the  sincerity  of  the 
artist,  that  is,  of  the  greater  or  lesser  force  with  which 


286  WHAT   IS   ARTV 

the  artist  himself  experiences  the  sensation  which  he  is 
conveying. 

The  more  the  sensation  to  be  conveyed  is  special,  the 
more  strongly  does  it  act  upon  the  perceiver.  The  per- 
ceiver  experiences  a  greater  enjoyment,  the  more  special 
the  condition  of  the  mind  is,  to  which  he  is  transferred,  and 
so  he  more  willingly  and  more  powerfully  blends  with  it. 

But  the  lucidity  of  the  expression  of  the  sensation  con- 
tributes to  the  infectiousness,  because,  blending  in  his 
consciousness  with  the  author,  the  one  who  receives  the 
impression  is  the  more  satisfied,  the  more  clearly  the  sen- 
sation is  expressed  which,  it  seems  to  him,  he  has  known 
and  experienced  for  a  long  time,  and  for  which  he  has  just 
found  an  expression. 

Still  more  is  the  degree  of  the  infectiousness  of  art  in- 
creased with  the  degree  of  the  artist's  sincerity.  The 
moment  the  hearer,  spectator,  reader,  feels  that  the  artist 
is  himself  infected  by  his  production  and  writes,  sings, 
plays  for  himself,  and  not  for  the  purpose  of  acting  upon 
others,  this  mental  condition  of  the  artist  infects  the  per- 
son receiving  the  impression,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  as 
soon  as  the  spectator,  reader,  hearer,  feels  that  the  author 
writes,  sings,  plays,  not  for  his  own  satisfaction,  but  for 
him,  the  person  receiving  the  impression,  and  does  not 
himself  feel  what  he  wants  to  express,  opposition  makes 
its  appearance,  and  the  most  special  and  the  newest  sen- 
sation and  the  most  intricate  technique  not  only  fail  to 
make  an  impression,  but  are  even  repulsive. 

I  am  speaking  of  three  conditions  of  the  infectiousness 
of  art ;  in  reality  there  is  but  the  last,  which  is,  that  the 
artist  should  experience  an  inner  need  of  expressing 
the  sensation  which  is  communicated  by  him.  This 
condition  includes  the  first,  for,  if  the  artist  is  sincere,  he 
will  express  the  sensation  as  he  has  received  it.  And 
since  no  man  resembles  another,  this  sensation  will  be 
different  for  any  one  else,  and  the  more  peculiar  and  the 


WHAT    IS    ART?  287 

deeper  the  source  from  which  the  artist  draws,  the  more 
iutimate  and  sincere  will  it  be.  This  sincerity  will  cause 
the  artist  to  find  a  clear  expression  for  the  sensation 
which  he   wishes  to  convey. 

Therefore  this  third  condition,  sincerity,  is  the  most 
important  of  the  three.  This  condition  is  always  present 
in  national  art,  for  wdiich  reason  it  acts  so  powerfully,  and 
is  nearly  always  absent  in  our  art  of  the  higher  classes 
wliich  is  continuously  manufactured  by  the  artists  for 
their  personal,  selfish,   or  vain  purposes. 

Sucli  are  the  three  conditions,  the  presence  of  which 
separates  art  from  its  adulterations,  and  at  the  same  time 
determines  the  value  of  each  production  of  art  inde- 
pendently of  its  contents. 

The  absence  of  one  of  these  conditions  has  this  effect, 
that  the  production  no  longer  belongs  to  art,  but  to  its 
adulterations.  If  a  production  does  not  render  the  in- 
dividual peculiarity  of  the  artist's  sensation,  especially, 
if  it  is  not  clearly  expressed,  or  if  it  did  not  arise  from 
the  author's  inner  necessity,  it  is  not  a  production  of  art. 
But  if  all  three  conditions  are  present,  even  in  the  small- 
est degree,  the  production,  however  weak  it  may  be,  is  a 
production  of  art. 

The  presence  of  all  three  conditions,  of  peculiarity, 
clearness,  and  sincerity,  in  varying  degrees,  determines 
the  worth  of  the  objects  of  art  as  art,  independently  of  its 
contents.  All  the  productions  of  art  are  as  to  their  worth 
classified  in  accordance  with  the  presence  of  one  of  these 
three  conditions.  In  one  it  is  the  peculiarity  of  the  con- 
veyable  subject  which  predominates ;  in  another  it  is  the 
clearness  of  expression  ;  in  a  third  —  sincerity  ;  in  a  fourth 
—  sincerity  and  peculiarity,  but  the  absence  of  clearness ; 
in  a  fifth  —  peculiarity  and  clearness,  but  less  sincerity, 
and  so  forth,  in  all  possible  degrees  and  combinations. 

Thus  is  art  separated  from  what  is  not  art,  and  the 
worth    of    art    as    art    determined,   independently  of   its 


288  WHAT    IS    ART? 

contents,  that  is,   independently  of   whether  it  conveys 
good  or  bad  sensations. 

But  by  what  is  good  or  bad  art,  as  regards  its  contents, 
determined  ? 


XVI. 

By  what  is  good  or  bad  art,  as  regards  its  contents, 
determined  ? 

Art  is,  together  with  speech,  one  of  the  instruments  of 
intercourse,  and  so  also  of  progress,  that  is,  of  humanity's 
forward  movement  toward  perfection.  Speech  makes  it 
possible  for  the  men  of  the  last  living  generations  to 
know  what  the  preceding  generations  and  the  best  lead- 
ing contemporary  men  have  found  out  by  means  of  expe- 
rience and  by  reasoning ;  art  makes  it  possible  for  the 
men  of  the  last  living  generations  to  experience  all  those 
sensations  which  men  experienced  before  them  and  which 
the  best  and  leading  men  are  still  experiencing.  And  as 
there  takes  place  an  evolution  of  knowledge,  that  is,  as  the 
truer  and  necessary  knowledge  crowds  out  and  takes 
the  place  of  faulty  and  unnecessary  knowledge,  so  also 
does  the  evolution  of  feelings  take  place  by  means  of  art, 
crowding  out  the  lower,  less  good  feelings,  which  are  less 
necessary  for  the  good  of  men,  to  make  place  for  better 
feelings,  which  are  more  necessary  for  this  good.  In  this 
does  the  mission  of  art  consist ;  and  so  art  is  according  to 
its  contents  better,  the  more  it  fulfils  this  mission,  and 
worse,  the  less  it  fulfils  it. 

But  the  valuation  of  feelings,  that  is,  the  acknowledg- 
ment of  these  or  those  feelings  as  better  or  less  good, 
that  is,  as  necessary  for  the  good  of  men,  is  achieved  by 
the  religious  consciousness  of  a  certain  time. 

In  any  given  historic  time  and  in  every  society  of  men 
there  exists  a  higher  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of 

289 


290  WHAT   IS    ART? 

life,  attained  by  the  men  of  this  society,  which  determines 
the  highest  good  after  which  this  society  is  striving. 

This  comprehension  is  the  religious  consciousness  of  a 
certain  time  and  society.  This  rehgious  consciousness  is 
always  clearly  expressed  by  some  leading  men  of  the 
society,  and  is  more  or  less  vividly  felt  by  all.  Such  a 
religious  consciousness,  corresponding  with  its  expression, 
has  always  existed  in  every  society.  If  it  seems  to  us 
that  the  religious  consciousness  is  absent  in  a  society,  it 
seems  so  to  us,  not  because  it  is  really  lacking,  but  be- 
cause we  do  not  wish  to  see  it.  And  the  reason  we  do 
not  wish  to  see  it  is  because  it  arraigns  our  life,  which  is 
not  in  accord  with  it. 

The  religious  consciousness  in  a  society  is  the  same  as 
the  direction  of  flowing  water.  If  the  water  runs,  there 
is  a  direction  in  which  it  flows.  If  a  society  lives,  there  is 
a  religious  consciousness,  which  indicates  the  direction 
along  which  all  the  men  of  that  society  are  tending  more 
or  less  consciously. 

For  this  reason  the  rehgious  consciousness  has  always 
existed  in  every  society.  In  correspondence  with  this  re- 
ligious consciousness  the  sensations  which  are  conveyed 
by  art  have  always  been  valued.  Only  on  the  basis  of 
this  religious  consciousness  of  its  time  was  there  segregated 
from  the  whole  endlessly  varied  sphere  of  art  that  which 
conveys  the  sensations  that  realize  in  life  the  religious 
consciousness  of  a  given  time.  And  such  art  has  always 
been  highly  esteemed  and  encouraged ;  but  the  art  which 
conveys  sensations  which  result  from  the  religious  con- 
sciousness of  a  former  time,  which  is  obsolete  and  outlived, 
has  always  been  condemned  and  despised.  All  other  art, 
which  conveys  the  most  varied  sensations,  by  means  of 
which  men  commune  with  one  another,  has  not  been  con- 
demned and  has  been  admitted,  so  long  as  it  has  not 
conveyed  any  sensations  which  are  contrary  to  the  re- 
ligious   consciousness.      Thus,  for  example,  the   Greeks 


WUAT   IS   AKT?  291 

evolved,  approved,  and  encouraged  the  art  which  conveyed 
the  sensations  of  beauty,  strength,  valour  (Hesiod,  Homer, 
Phidias),  and  condemned  and  despised  the  art  which  con- 
veyed the  sensations  of  gross  sensuality,  dejection,  effemi- 
nacy. The  Jews  evolved  and  encouraged  the  art  which 
conveyed  the  sensations  of  loyalty  and  obedience  to  the 
God  of  the  Jews,  to  His  commandments  (some  parts  of 
the  Book  of  Genesis,  the  prophets,  the  psalms),  and  con- 
demned and  despised  the  art  which  conveyed  the  sensa- 
tions of  idolatry  (the  golden  calf);  all  other  art,  —  stories, 
songs,  dances,  the  adornment  of  the  houses,  of  the  uten- 
sils, of  the  wearing  apparel,  —  which  was  not  contrary  to 
the  religious  consciousness,  was  not  thought  of  or  con- 
demned at  all.  Thus  has  art  always  and  everywhere 
been  esteemed  according  to  its  contents,  and  so  it  ought 
to  be  esteemed,  because  such  a  relation  to  art  results  from 
the  properties  of  human  nature,  and  these  properties  do 
not  change. 

I  know  that,  according  to  the  opinion  which  is  current 
in  our  time,  religion  is  a  superstition  which  humanity  has 
outhved,  and  that,  therefore,  it  is  assumed  that  in  our 
time  there  is  no  religious  consciousness  common  to  all 
men,  by  which  art  may  be  valued.  I  know  that  such  is 
the  opinion  which  is  diffused  among  the  so-called  cultured 
classes  of  our  time.  Men  who  do  not  recognize  Chris- 
tianity in  its  true  sense  and  so  invent  for  themselves  all 
kinds  of  philosophical  and  a^sthetical  theories,  which  con- 
ceal from  them  the  meaninglessness  and  sinfulness  of 
their  lives,  cannot  help  but  think  thus.  These  men  in- 
tentionally, and  at  times  unintentionally,  by  confusing 
the  concept  of  the  rehgious  cult  with  the  concept  of  the 
religious  consciousness,  think  that,  by  denying  the  cult, 
they  thereby  deny  the  religious  consciousness.  But  all 
these  attacks  on  religion  and  the  attempts  at  establish- 
ing a  world  conception  which  is  contrary  to  the  religious 
consciousness  of  our  time,  prove  more  obviously  than  any- 


292  WHAT    IS    ART? 

thing  else  the  presence  of  this   religious  consciousness, 
which  arraigns  the  lives  of  men  who  do  not  conform  to  it. 

If  in  humanity  there  is  such  a  thing  as  progress,  that  is,  a 
forward  movement,  there  must  inevitably  exist  an  indicator 
of  the  direction  of  this  movement.  Eeligion  has  always  been 
such  an  indicator.  The  whole  of  history  proves  that  the 
progress  of  humanity  has  taken  place  only  under  the 
guidance  of  religion,  not  the  religion  of  the  cult,  the  Cath- 
ohc,  the  Protestant,  and  so  forth,  but  the  rehgious  con- 
sciousness. And  if  the  progress  of  humanity  cannot  take 
place  without  the  guidance  of  religion,  —  the  progress  is 
taking  place  all  the  time,  consequently  also  at  present,  — 
there  must  also  exist  a  religion  of  our  time.  Thus, 
whether  the  so-called  cultured  people  of  our  time  like  it 
or  not,  they  must  recognize  the  existence  of  rehgion  as  a 
necessary  guidance  to  progress  even  in  our  time.  But  if 
there  is  among  us  a  religious  consciousness,  our  art  must 
be  valued  on  the  basis  of  this  religious  consciousness  ; 
and  just  as  always  and  at  all  times,  there  was  segregated 
from  all  indifferent  art,  cognized,  liighly  esteemed,  and  en- 
couraged that  art  which  conveys  sensations  that  arise  from 
the  religious  consciousness  of  our  time,  and  the  art  which 
is  contrary  to  this  consciousness  was  condemned  and  de- 
spised, and  all  other  indifferent  art  was  not  segregated 
and  not  encouraged. 

The  religious  consciousness  of  our  time,  in  its  most 
general,  practical  application,  is  the  consciousness  of  the 
fact  that  our  good,  the  material  and  the  spiritual,  the  in- 
dividual and  the  general,  the  temporal  and  the  eternal,  is 
contained  in  the  fraternal  life  of  all  men,  in  our  love-union 
among  ourselves.  This  consciousness  was  not  only  ex- 
pressed by  Christ  and  all  the  best  men  of  the  past,  and  is 
not  only  repeated  in  the  most  varied  forms  and  from  the 
most  varied  sides  by  the  best  men  of  our  time,  but  has 
also  served  as  a  guiding  thread  in  the  whole  complex 
work  of  humanity,  which,  on  the  one  hand,  consists  in  the 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  293 

destruction  of  the  physical  and  moral  barriers,  which  in- 
terfere with  the  union  of  men,  and,  on  the  other,  in  the 
estabhshment  of  those  principles,  common  to  all  men, 
which  can  and  must  unite  all  men  into  one  universal 
brotherhood.  On  the  basis  of  this  consciousness  we  must 
estimate  the  value  of  all  the  phenomena  of  our  life, 
among  them  also  our  art,  segregating  from  its  whole 
sphere  that  which  conveys  sensations  arising  from  this  re- 
ligious consciousness,  esteeming  highly  and  encouraging 
this  art,  rejecting  what  is  contrary  to  this  consciousness, 
and  refraining  from  ascribing  to  other  art  that  meaning 
which  is  not  proper  to  it. 

The  chief  mistake  made  by  the  men  of  the  highest 
classes  of  the  so-called  Eenascence,  —  a  mistake  which 
we  are  continuing  at  the  present  time,  did  not  consist  in 
their  having  ceased  to  value  religious  art  and  to  ascribe 
any  meaning  to  it  (the  men  of  that  time  could  not  have 
ascribed  any  meaning  to  it,  because,  like  the  men  of  the 
higher  classes  of  our  time,  they  could  not  believe  in  what 
was  given  out  as  religion),  but  in  this,  that  in  place  of 
tliis  absent  religious  art  they  put  an  insignificant  art  which 
had  for  its  aim  nothing  but  man's  enjoyment,  that  is,  in 
that  they  began  to  eliminate,  value,  and  encourage  as 
rehgious  art  what  in  no  case  deserved  that  valuation  and 
encouragement. 

A  father  of  the  church  said  that  men's  chief  trouble  is 
not  their  not  knowing  God,  but  their  having  placed  what 
is  not  God  in  the  place  of  God.  The  same  is  true  of  art. 
The  chief  trouble  of  the  men  of  the  highest  classes  of  our 
time  is  not  so  much  that  they  have  no  religious  art,  as 
that  in  place  of  the  highest  religious  art,  separated  from 
all  the  rest,  as  especially  important  and  valuable,  they 
have  separated  the  most  insignificant,  for  the  most  part 
harmful,  art,  which  has  for  its  aim  enjoyment  on  the  part 
of  the  few,  which  from  the  very  fact  of  its  exclusiveness 
is  contrary  to  that  Christian  principle  of  a  universal  union, 


294  WHAT    IS    ART? 

which  forms  the  religious  consciousness  of  our  time.  In 
the  place  of  religious  art  has  been  put  a  trifling,  frequently- 
corrupt  art,  and  thus  was  concealed  from  men  that  neces- 
sity of  a  true,  religious  art,  which  has  to  be  in  life,  in 
order  to  improve  it. 

It  is  true,  the  art  which  satisfies  the  demands  of  the 
religious  consciousness  of  our  time  does  not  resemble 
the  former  art,  but,  in  spite  of  this  dissimilarity,  that 
which  forms  the  rehgious  art  of  our  time  is  very  clear 
and  well  defined  to  a  man  who  does  not  intentionally 
conceal  the  truth  from  himself.  In  former  times,  when 
the  highest  religious  consciousness  united  only  a  certain 
society  of  men  which,  no  matter  how  large  it  was,  was  one 
among  others,  —  the  Jewish,  Athenian,  and  Eoman  citi- 
zens, —  the  sensations  conveyed  by  the  art  of  those  times 
sprang  from  the  desire  for  the  power,  grandeur,  glory,  and 
welfare  of  these  societies,  and  the  men  who  contributed  to 
this  welfare  by  means  of  force,  cunning,  cruelty  (Ulysses, 
Jacob,  David,  Samson,  Hercules,  and  all  the  bogatyrs) 
could  be  the  heroes  of  art.  But  the  religious  conscious- 
ness of  our  time  does  not  segregate  any  one  society  of 
men,  —  on  the  contrary,  it  demands  the  union  of  all, 
absolutely  all  men  without  exception,  and  places  brotherly 
love  for  all  men  higher  than  all  other  virtues,  and  so  the 
sensations  which  are  conveyed  by  the  art  of  our  time  not 
only  cannot  coincide  with  the  sensations  which  were 
conveyed  by  the  older  art,  but  must  even  be  contrary  to 
them. 

Christian,  true  Christian  art  could  not  establish  itself 
for  a  long  time,  and  has  not  yet  established  itself,  because 
the  Christian  rehgious  consciousness  was  not  one  of  those 
small  steps  by  which  humanity  moves  forward,  but  an 
enormous  upheaval,  which,  if  it  has  not  yet  changed,  must 
finally  change  the  whole  life-conception  of  men  and  the 
whole  inner  structure  of  their  lives.  It  is  true,  the  life 
of  humanity,  as  well  as  that  of  the  individual  man,  moves 


WnAT   IS  ART?  295 

evenly ;   but  in  this  even  motion  there  are,  as  it  were, 

turning-points,  which  sharply  separate  the  previous  hfe 
from  the  following.  Such  a  turning-point  for  humanity 
was  found  in  Christianity,  —  at  least  it  must  appear  as 
such  to  us,  who  are  living  by  the  Christian  consciousness. 
The  Christian  consciousness  gave  another  new  direction 
to  all  the  sentiments  of  men,  and  thus  completely  changed 
the  contents  and  the  significance  of  art.  The  Greeks  could 
make  use  of  the  art  of  the  Persians,  and  the  Romans  of  the 
art  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  Jews  of  the  art  of  the  Egyptians, 
—  the  fundamental  ideals  were  one  and  the  same.  The 
grandeur  and  the  good  of  the  Persians,  or  the  grandeur 
and  the  good  of  the  Greeks,  or  of  the  Eomans,  were  such 
an  ideal.  One  and  the  same  art  was  transferred  to  other 
conditions  and  was  good  for  newer  nations.  But  the 
Christian  ideal  so  changed  and  upturned  everything  that, 
as  the  Gospel  says,  what  was  great  before  man  became  an 
abomination  before  God.  The  ideal  was  no  longer  the 
grandeur  of  a  Pharaoh  or  a  Roman  emperor,  not  the  beauty 
of  the  Greek,  nor  the  wealth  of  Phoenicia,  but  meekness, 
chastity,  compassion,  love.  Not  the  rich  man,  but  the 
beggar  Lazarus  became  the  hero ;  Mary  of  Egypt,  not  in 
the  time  of  her  beauty,  but  in  the  time  of  her  repentance  ; 
not  the  acquirers  of  wealth,  but  those  who  distributed 
it ;  not  those  who  lived  in  palaces,  but  those  who  lived  in 
catacombs  and  huts  ;  not  those  who  held  power  over  others, 
but  those  who  recognized  no  power  but  God's.  And  the 
highest  production  of  art  was  not  a  temple  of  victory  with 
the  statues  of  the  victors,  but  the  representation  of  the 
human  soul,  so  transformed  by  love  that  the  man  who  is 
being  tortured  and  killed  pities  and  loves  his  tormentors. 
And  so  the  men  of  the  Christian  world  find  it  hard  to 
arrest,  the  inertia  of  the  pagan  art,  with  which  their  life 
has  grown  up.  The  contents  of  the  Christian  religious 
art  are  so  new  to  them,  so  different  from  the  contents  of 
the  older  art,  that  it  seems  to  them  that  the  Christian  art 


296  WHAT    IS    ART? 

is  a  negation  of  art,  and  so  they  desperately  hold  on  to 
the  old  art.  But  this  old  art,  which  in  our  time  no  longer 
has  any  source  in  religious  consciousness,  has  lost  all  its 
meaning,  and  we  are  willy-nilly  compelled  to  renounce  it. 

The  essence  of  the  Christian  consciousness  consists  in 
every  man's  recognition  of  his  filial  relation  to  God  and 
the  resulting  union  of  men  with  God  and  among  them- 
selves, as  it  says  in  the  Gospel  (John  xvii.  21),  and  so 
the  contents  of  the  Christian  art  are  sentiments  which 
contribute  to  the  union  of  men  with  God  and  with  one 
another. 

The  expression,  "  the  union  of  men  with  God  and  with 
one  another,"  may  seem  obscure  to  people  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  hear  the  frequent  misuse  of  these  words,  and 
yet  these  words  have  a  very  clear  meaning.  These  words 
signify  that  the  Christian  union  of  men,  in  contradis- 
tinction to  the  partial,  exclusive  union  of  only  a  few 
men,  is  that  which  unites  all  men  without  exception. 

Art,  every  art  in  itself,  has  the  property  of  uniting 
men.  Every  art  has  this  effect,  that  the  men  who  re- 
ceive the  sensation  which  the  artist  conveys  unite  their 
souls,  in  the  first  place,  with  the  artist,  and,  in  the  sec- 
ond, with  all  men  who  have  received  the  same  impression. 
But  non-Christian  art,  in  uniting  some  men  among  them- 
selves, by  this  very  union  separates  them  from  other 
men,  so  that  this  partial  union  frequently  serves  as  a 
source,  not  only  of  disunion,  but  also  of  enmity  toward 
other  men.  Such  is  all  patriotic  art,  with  its  hymns, 
poems,  monuments ;  such  is  all  ecclesiastic  art,  that  is, 
the  art  of  certain  cults,  with  their  images,  statues,  pro- 
cessions, services,  temples ;  such  is  the  miHtary  art ;  such 
is  all  refined,  in  reality  corrupt  art,  which  is  accessible 
only  to  men  who  oppress  others,  —  the  art  of  the  idle 
rich.  Such  art  is  obsolete,  non-Christian  art,  which 
unites  some  men  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  may 
more  sharply  separate  them  from  others,  and  even  place 


WHAT   IS   ART?  297 

them  in  an  inimical  relation  to  them.  Christian  art  is 
only  that  which  unites  all  men  without  exception,  in 
that  it  evokes  iu  men  the  consciousness  of  the  oneness 
of  their  position  in  regard  to  God  and  to  their  neighbours, 
or  in  that  it  evokes  in  them  one  and  the  same  sentiment, 
be  it  the  simplest,  so  long  as  it  is  not  contrary  to  Chris- 
tianity, a  sentiment  which  is  natural  to  all  men  without 
exception. 

The  Christian  good  art  of  our  time  may  not  be  under- 
stood by  men  in  consequence  of  the  insufficiency  of  its 
form  or  in  consequence  of  the  inattention  of  men  toward 
it,  but  it  must  be  such  that  all  men  may  experience  the 
sensations  which  are  conveyed  by  it.  It  has  to  be  the 
art  not  of  some  one  circle  of  men,  not  of  one  class,  not 
of  one  nationality,  not  of  one  religious  cult,  that  is,  it  is 
not  to  convey  sensations  which  are  only  in  a  certain  way 
comprehensible  to  an  educated  man,  or  only  to  a  noble- 
man, a  merchant,  or  only  a  Russian,  a  Japanese,  or  a 
Catholic,  a  Buddhist,  and  so  forth,  but  to  convey  sensa- 
tions that  are  accessible  to  every  man.  Only  such  art 
may  in  our  time  be  recognized  as  good  art  and  segregated 
from  all  other  art  and  encouraged. 

Christian  art,  that  is,  the  art  of  our  time,  must  be 
catholic  in  the  direct  sense  of  the  word,  that  is,  universal, 
and  so  must  unite  all  men.  But  there  are  but  two  kinds 
of  sensations  which  unite  all  men,  the  sensations  which 
arise  from  the  recognition  of  one's  filial  relation  to  God 
and  of  the  brotherhood  of  men,  and  the  simplest,  vital 
sensations,  which  are  accessible  to  all  men  without  excep- 
tion, such  as  the  sensations  of  joy,  meekness  of  spirit, 
alacrity,  calm,  etc.  It  is  only  these  two  kinds  of  sensa- 
tions that  form  the  subject  of  the  art  of  our  time  which 
is  good  according  to  its  contents. 

The  action  produced  by  these  two  apparently  so  differ- 
ent kinds  of  art  is  one  and  the  same.  The  sensations 
arising  from  the  consciousness  of  a  filial  relation  to  God 


298  WHAT    IS    ART? 

and  of  a  brotherhood  of  men,  like  the  sensations  of  firm- 
ness in  truth,  loyalty  to  God's  will,  self-renunciation, 
respect  for  men  and  love  of  them,  which  arise  from  the 
Christian  religious  consciousness,  and  the  simplest  sensa- 
tions, —  a  meek  or  a  happy  mood  resulting  from  a  song, 
or  from  an  amusing  and  all-comprehensible  joke,  or  from 
a  touching  story,  or  from  a  drawing,  or  from  a  doll,  pro- 
duce one  and  the  same  effect,  —  a  love-union  of  men.  It 
happens  that  men  are  together  who,  if  not  hostile,  are 
strangers  to  one  another  as  the  result  of  their  moods  or 
feelings,  and  suddenly  a  story,  or  a  performance,  or  a 
picture,  even  a  building,  and  most  frequently  music, 
unites  all  these  men  as  though  by  means  of  an  electric 
spark,  and  all  these  men  feel  union  and  love  of  one 
another,  in  place  of  the  former  disunion,  frequently  even 
enmity.  Everybody  rejoices  at  the  fact  that  another 
man  experiences  the  same  as  he,  —  rejoices  at  the  com- 
munion estabhshed,  not  only  between  him  and  all  the 
persons  present,  but  even  with  all  the  men  who  live  at 
the  same  time  with  liim  and  who  will  receive  the  same 
impression ;  more  than  this :  everybody  feels  the  myste- 
rious joy  of  an  intercourse  after  the  grave  with  all  the 
men  of  the  past,  who  ba,ve  experienced  the  same  feeling, 
and  with  the  men  of  the  future,  who  will  experience  it. 
This  action  is  produced  alike  by  the  art  which  conveys 
the  sentiment  of  love  of  God  and  one's  neighbour,  and  by 
the  vital  art,  which  conveys  the  simplest  sensations,  com- 
mon to  all  men. 

The  difference  between  the  valuation  of  the  art  of  our 
time  and  that  of  the  past  consists  mainly  in  this,  that 
the  art  of  our  time,  that  is.  Christian  art,  being  based  on 
the  religious  consciousness  which  demands  the  union  of 
men,  excludes  from  the  sphere  of  good  art,  as  far  as  its 
contents  are  concerned,  everything  which  conveys  exclu- 
sive sentiments,  which  do  not  unite,  but  disunite,  men, 
classifying  such  art  as  bad  in  contents,  and,  on  the  con- 


WnAT  IS   ART?  299 

trary,  includes  in  the  sphere  of  good  art,  as  far  as  its 
contents  are  concerned,  the  division  (jf  universal  art, 
which  formerly  was  not  considered  worthy  of  segrega- 
tion and  respect,  and  which  conveys  the  most  insignifi- 
cant and  simple  sensations,  but  such  as  are  accessible  to 
all  men  without  exception,  and  which,  therefore,  unite 
them. 

Such  art  cannot  help  but  be  considered  good  in  our 
time,  because  it  attains  the  same  aim  which  the  religious 
Christian  consciousness  of  our  time  sets  before  humanity. 

The  Christian  art  either  evokes  in  men  those  sensa- 
tions which  through  love  of  God  and  our  neighbour  draw 
them  to  a  greater  and  ever  greater  union  and  make  them 
ready  and  capable  of  such  a  union ;  or  it  evokes  in  them 
those  sensations  which  show  them  that  they  are  already 
united  in  the  unity  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  life.  And 
so  the  Christian  art  of  our  time  can  be,  and  actually  is,  of 
two  sorts:  (1)  the  art  which  conveys  sentiments  which 
arise  from  the  religious  consciousness  of  man's  position 
in  the  world,  in  r^jiation  to  God  and  to  our  neighbour,  — 
religious  art,  and  (2)  the  art  wliich  conveys  the  simplest 
sensations  of  life,  such  as  are  accessible  to  all  men  of  the 
whole  world,  —  vital,  national,  universal  art.  It  is  only 
these  two  kinds  of  art  that  in  our  time  may  be  regarded 
as  good  art. 

The  first  kind  of  religious  art,  which  conveys  both  the 
positive  sentiments  of  love  of  God  and  of  our  neighbour 
as  also  the  .negative  indignations,  the  terrors  in  violating 
love,  is  manifested  chiefly  in  the  form  of  Hterature  and 
partly  in  painting  and  sculpture;  the  second  that  of 
universal  art,  which  conveys  sensations  that  are  accessible 
to  all,  is  manifested  in  literature,  and  in  painting,  and  in 
sculpture,  and  in  dances,  and  in  architecture,  and  chiefly 
in  music. 

If  I  were  required  to  point  out  in  modern  art  the 
models  of  each  of  these  kinds  of  art,  I  should  point,  as 


300  WHAT   IS   ART? 

to  models  of  a  higher  art,  which  arises  from  the  love  of 
God  and  of  our  neighbour,  in  the  sphere  of  literature, 
to  Schiller's  Robbers ;  from  the  moderns,  to  Hugo's  Les 
Pauvres  Gens  and  to  his  Les  Miser ables ;  to  Dickens's 
stories  and  novels,  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  Chimes,  and  others, 
to  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  to  Dostoevski,  especially  his  Dead 
House,  to  George  Eliot's  Adam  Bede. 

In  the  painting  of  modern  times  there  are,  however 
strange  this  may  seem,  hardly  any  productions  of  the 
kind  which  directly  convey  the  Christian  sentiments  of 
love  of  God  and  of  our  neighbour ;  this  is  especially  true 
among  famous  painters.  There  are  gospel  pictures,  and 
of  these  there  is  a  great  quantity ;  they  all  illustrate 
historical  events  with  a  great  wealth  of  details,  but  do 
not  convey,  and  cannot  convey,  that  rehgious  sentiment, 
which  the  authors  do  not  possess.  There  are  many  pic- 
tures which  represent  the  personal  sentiments  of  various 
people,  but  there  are  very  few  pictures  which  reproduce 
acts  of  self-renunciation  and  Christian  love,  and  these  are 
only  among  little  known  painters  and  in  unfinished  pic- 
tures, but  mainly  in  drawings.  Such  is  Kramski's  paint- 
ing, which  is  worth  many  of  his  pictures,  and  which 
represents  a  drawing-room  with  a  balcony,  past  which 
solemnly  march  the  regiments  returning  home.  On  the 
balcony  is  standing  a  nurse  with  a  babe,  and  a  boy. 
They  are  taking  in  the  procession  of  the  soldiers ;  but  the 
mother,  covering  her  face  with  a  handkerchief,  falls  sob- 
bing with  her  face  against  the  back  of  the  sofa.  Such  is 
also  Langley's  picture,  which  I  have  mentioned ;  such 
is  also  the  picture  which  represents  a  rescue  boat  hurry- 
ing in  a  heavy  storm  to  save  a  drowning  ship,  by  the 
French  painter  Morion.  There  are  also  some  other  pic- 
tures which  approach  this  kind,  and  which  express  the 
labourer  with  love  and  respect.  Such  are  Millet's  pic- 
tures, especially  his  drawing,  "  The  Digger  Eesting ; "  of 
the  same  cliaracter  the  pictures  by  Jules  Breton,  L'Her- 


WHAT   IS   ART?  301 

mite,  Defregger,  and  others.  As  samples  of  productions 
evoking  indignation  and  terror  at  the  violation  of  love  of 
God  and  of  our  neighbour,  may  serve  Gay's  picture,  "  The 
Judgment,"  and  Liezen  Mayer's  picture,  "  The  Signing  of 
the  Sentence  of  Death."  There  are  few  pictures  even 
of  this  category.  The  cares  about  the  tecliuique  and 
beauty  for  the  most  part  overshadow  the  feeling.  Thus, 
for  example,  Gerome's  picture,  "  Pollice  Verso,"  does  not  so 
much  express  horror  at  what  is  taking  place,  as  infatua- 
tion with  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle. 

It  is  even  more  difficult  in  the  new  art  of  the  higher 
classes  to  point  out  models  of  the  second  kind,  of  good, 
universal,  vital  art,  especially  in  literature  and  in  music. 
Even  if  there  are  productions  which  by  their  inner  con- 
tents^ hke  Don  Quixote,  Molifere's  comedies,  Dickens's 
Copperjield  and  Pichivick  Club,  Gogol's  and  Pushkin's 
stories,  and  a  few  things  by  Maupassant,  may  be  referred 
to  this  kind,  these  things  on  account  of  the  exclusiveness  of 
the  sensations  conveyed  and  on  account  of  the  special  de- 
tails of  time  and  place,  and,  chiefly,  on  account  of  their  pov- 
erty of  contents,  as  compared  with  the  models  of  ancient 
universal  art,  as,  for  example,  the  history  of  Joseph  the 
Fair,  are  for  the  most  part  accessible  only  to  people  of 
their  own  nation  and  even  of  their  own  circle.  The 
incidents  about  Joseph's  brothers,  who,  being  jealous  of 
him  in  respect  to  their  father,  sold  him  to  merchantmen  ; 
about  Potiphar's  wife  wishing  to  tempt  the  young  man  ; 
about  the  youth's  attaining  a  high  position  and  pitying  his 
brothers ;  about  the  favourite  Benjamin,  and  all  the  rest, 
—  all  those  are  sentiments  which  are  accessible  to  a  Ptus- 
sian  peasant,  and  a  Chinaman,  and  an  African,  and  a  child, 
and  an  old  man,  to  an  educated  man,  and  to  an  illiterate 
person  ;  and  all  that  is  written  with  so  much  reserve, 
without  superfluous  details,  that  the  story  may  be  trans- 
ferred to  any  surroundings,  and  it  will  be  just  as  compre- 
hensible and   just  as  touching.     But   not  such   are  the 


302  WHAT   IS   ART? 

sentiments  of  Don  Quixote  or  of  Molifere's  heroes  (though 
Molifere  is  almost  the  most  universal  and  so  the  most 
beautiful  artist  of  modern  art)  and  even  less  so  are  the 
sentiments  of  Pickwick  and  his  friends.  These  senti- 
ments are  very  exclusive,  not  universally  human,  and  so, 
to  make  them  infectious,  the  authors  surrounded  them 
with  copious  details  of  time  and  place.  The  copiousness 
of  the  details,  however,  makes  these  stories  more  exclu- 
sive still  and  incomprehensible  for  those  men  who  live 
outside  the  surroundings  which  the  author  describes. 

In  the  story  of  Joseph  there  was  no  need  of  giving  a 
detailed  description,  as  they  now  do,  of  Joseph's  bloody 
shirt  and  of  Jacob's  house  and  garment,  and  of  the  atti- 
tude and  attire  of  Potiphar's  wife,  how  she,  adjusting  the 
bracelet  of  her  left  hand,  said,  "  Come  into  my  room,"  and 
so  forth,  because  the  contents  of  the  sentiment  in  this 
story  are  so  strong  that  all  the  details,  —  excluding  those 
which  are  most  necessary,  such  as,  for  example,  that 
Joseph  went  into  another  room,  in  order  to  weep,  —  are 
superfluous  and  would  only  interfere  with  the  transmission 
of  the  sensations,  —  and  so  this  story  is  accessible  to  all 
men,  moves  the  men  of  all  nations,  conditions,  and  ages, 
has  reached  us,  and  will  Hve  another  thousand  years. 
But  take  the  details  away  from  the  best  novels  of  our 
time,  and  what  will  be  left  ? 

Thus  it  is  impossible  in  modern  literary  art  to  point  out 
any  productions  which  completely  satisfy  the  demands  of 
universality.  Even  those  that  exist  are  for  the  most  part 
spoiled  by  what  is  called  realism,  which  may  more  cor- 
rectly be  called  provincialism  in  art. 

In  music  the  same  happens  as  in  literary  art,  and  from 
the  same  reasons.  On  account  of  the  poverty  of  their 
contents,  the  tunes  of  the  modern  musicians  are  strikingly 
barren.  And  so,  to  strengthen  the  impression  produced 
by  a  barren  tune,  the  modern  musicians  burden  every 
most  insignificant  melody  with  tlie  most  complex  modula- 


WHAT   IS   ART?  303 

tions  of  their  own  national  tunes,  or  only  of  such  as  are 
proper  to  a  certain  circle,  a  certain  musical  school. 
Melody  —  every  melody — is  free,  and  may  be  under- 
stood by  all ;  but  the  moment  it  is  tied  to  a  certain  har- 
mony and  is  obstructed  by  it,  it  becomes  comprehensible 
only  to  men  who  are  familiar  with  that  harmony,  and 
becomes  completely  foreign,  not  only  to  other  nationalities, 
but  also  to  all  men  who  do  not  belong  to  the  circle  in 
which  men  have  trained  themselves  in  certain  forms  of 
harmony.  Thus  music  turns  in  the  same  vicious  circle 
as  poetry.  Insignificant,  exclusive  tunes,  to  be  made 
attractive,  are  obstructed  with  harmonic,  rhythmical,  and 
orchestric  complications,  and  so  become  more  exclusive 
still  and  fail  to  be  universal  and  even  national,  that  is, 
they  are  accessible  to  but  a  few  men,  and  not  to  the 
whole  nation. 

In  music,  outside  of  the  marches  and  dances  of  com- 
posers, which  approach  the  demands  of  universal  art, 
there  may  be  pointed  out  the  popular  songs  of  the  various 
nations,  from  the  Eussian  to  the  Chinese  ;  but  in  the 
learned  music  there  are  but  a  very  few  productions,  the 
famous  violin  aria  by  Bach,  Chopin's  Es  dur  nocturne, 
and,  perhaps,  a  dozen  things,  not  entire  pieces,  but  pas- 
sages selected  from  the  productions  of  Haydn,  Mozart, 
Schubert,  Beethoven,  Chopin.^ 

Though  the  same  is  repeated  in  painting  as  in  poetry 

^In  presenting  models  of  art  which  I  regard  as  the  best,  I  do  not 
ascribe  any  especial  weight  to  my  selection,  because  I,  besides  being 
little  versed  in  all  the  kinds  of  art,  belong  to  the  class  of  men  with  a 
taste  which  is  corrupted  by  a  false  education.  And  so  I  may,  from 
an  old  inherent  habit,  be  mistaken  when  I  ascribe  an  absolute  worth  to 
the  impression  produced  on  me  by  a  thing  in  my  youth.  I  call  them 
models  of  this  or  that  kind  only  for  the  purpose  of  more  clearly  elu- 
cidating my  idea  and  showing  how  I,  with  my  present  view,  under- 
stand the  value  of  art  from  its  contents.  I  must  remark  with  this  that 
I  count  my  artistic  productions  as  belonging  to  the  sphere  of  bad 
art,  with  the  exception  of  the  story,  God  Sees  the  Truth,  which  belongs 
to  the  first  kind,  and  The  Prisoner  of  the  Caucasus,  which  belongs 
to  the  second. 


304  WHAT    IS    ART? 

and  music,  that  is,  that  productions  weak  in  conception, 
to  he  made  more  entertaining,  are  surrounded  by  minutely 
studied  accessories  of  time  and  place,  which  give  to  these 
productions  a  temporary  and  local  interest,  but  make 
them  less  universal,  it  is  possible  in  painting,  more  than 
in  any  other  kinds  of  art,  to  point  out  productions  which 
satisfy  the  demands  of  a  universal  Christian  art,  that  is, 
such  as  express  sentiments  which  are  comprehensible  to 
all  men. 

Such  productions  of  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture, 
universal  as  regards  their  contents,  are  all  the  pictures 
and  statues  of  the  so-called  genre,  the  representations  of 
animals,  then  landscapes,  caricatures  of  comprehensible 
contents,  and  all  kinds  of  ornaments.  There  are  very 
many  such  productions  in  painting  and  in  art  (porcelain 
dolls),  but  the  majority  of  such  objects,  as,  for  example, 
all  kinds  of  ornaments,  are  not  considered  art,  or  if  they 
are,  are  considered  art  of  a  lower  order.  In  reality  all  such 
objects,  if  only  they  convey  the  artist's  sincere  sentiment 
(no  matter  how  insignificant  it  may  appear  to  us),  and  if 
they  are  comprehensible  to  all  men,  are  the  productions 
of  true  and  good  Christian  art. 

I  am  afraid  that  here  I  shall  be  reproached  because, 
having  denied  that  the  concept  of  beauty  forms  a  subject 
of  art,  I  here  again  acknowledge  beauty  as  a  subject  of 
art.  This  reproach  is  unjust,  because  the  contents  of  the 
art  of  all  kinds  of  ornamentation  does  not  consist  in 
beauty,  but  in  the  sensation  of  delight,  enjoyment  of  the 
combinations  of  lines  and  colours,  which  the  artist  expe- 
riences and  mth  which  he  infects  the  spectator.  Art  is, 
as  it  has  been,  and  can  be,  nothing  but  the  infection  by 
one  man  of  another  or  others  with  the  sensation  which 
the  infecting  person  has  experienced.  Among  these  sen- 
sations is  also  that  of  enjoying  what  pleases  the  eye. 
Objects  which  please  the  eye  can  be  such  as  please  a 
small  or  a  greater  number  of  men,  and  such  as  please  all 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  305 

men.  And  such  are  chiefly  all  ornaments.  The  land- 
scape of  a  very  exclusive  locality,  a  very  special  genre 
may  not  please  all  men ;  but  ornaments,  whether  Yakut 
or  Greek,  are  accessible  to  all  and  evoke  enjoyment  in  all 
men,  and  so  this  neglected  kind  of  art  in  Christian  society 
ought  to  be  esteemed  much  higher  than  the  exclusive, 
pretentious  pictures  and  sculptures.  Thus  there  are  but 
two  kinds  of  good  Christian  art ;  everything  else,  which 
does  not  come  under  these  two  kinds,  must  be  considered 
bad  art,  which  must  not  only  not  be  encouraged,  but  ought 
to  be  expelled,  rejected,  and  despised,  as  an  art  which  does 
not  unite,  but  disunites  men.  Such  in  the  hterary  art 
are  all  the  dramas,  novels,  and  poems  which  convey 
exclusive  sensations,  such  as  are  inherent  only  in  the  one 
class  of  the  idle  rich,  —  the  sensations  of  aristocratic 
honour,  satiety,  melancholy,  pessimism,  and  the  refined 
and  corrupt  sensations  which  arise  from  sexual  love 
and  which  are  completely  incomprehensible  to  the  vast 
majority  of  men. 

In  painting,  as  such  productions  of  bad  art  must  be 
similarly  regarded  all  pictures,  false,  religious,  patriotic, 
and  exclusive,  in  short,  all  pictures  which  represent 
amusements  and  deUghts  of  a  wealthy  and  idle  life,  all 
so-called  symbolical  pictures,  in  which  the  meaning  of 
the  symbol  itself  is  accessible  only  to  people  of  a  certain 
circle,  and,  above  all  else,  all  pictures  with  lascivious  sul)- 
jects,  all  that  horrible  feminine  nakedness,  which  fills  all 
the  exhibitions  and  galleries.  To  the  same  category 
belongs  all  chamber  and  opera  music  of  our  time,  begin- 
ning in  particular  with  Beethoven,  —  Schumann,  Berlioz, 
Liszt,  Wagner,  —  which  by  its  contents  is  devoted  to  the 
expression  of  sensations  which  are  accessible  only  to  men 
who  have  nurtured  in  themselves  a  morbid  nervous  irrita- 
bility, excited  by  this  exclusive  and  complicated  music. 

"  What,  the  ninth  symphony  belongs  to  the  bad  kind 
of  art  ? "  do  I  hear  voices  of  indignation. 


306  WHAT    IS    ART? 

"  Unquestionably,"  do  I  answer.  Everything  I  have 
written,  I  have  written  for  the  purpose  of  finding  a  clear, 
rational  criterion,  by  which  to  judge  the  values  of  the 
productions  of  art.  This  criterion,  coinciding  with  simple 
common  sense,  shows  to  me  indubitably  that  Beethoven's 
symphony  is  not  a  good  production  of  art.  Of  course,  the 
recognition  of  such  a  famous  work  as  bad  must  be  strange 
and  startling  to  men  who  are  educated  in  the  adoration  of 
certain  productions  and  their  authors,  to  men  with  a  dis- 
torted taste,  in  consequence  of  an  education  which  is 
based  on  this  adoration.  But  what  is  to  be  done  with 
the  indications  of  reason  and  with  common  sense  ? 

Beethoven's  ninth  symphony  is  regarded  as  a  great  pro- 
duction of  art.  To  verify  this  assertion,  I  first  of  all  put 
the  question  to  myself  :  If  this  production  does  not  belong 
to  the  highest  order  of  religious  art,  has  it  any  other  prop- 
erty of  good  art  of  our  time,  —  the  property  of  uniting  all 
men  in  one  feeling  ?  Does  it  not  belong  to  the  Christian 
worldly  universal  art  ?  I  cannot  answer  affirmatively, 
because  I  not  only  fail  to  see  that  the  sensations  con- 
veyed in  this  production  are  able  to  unite  people  who  are 
not  specially  educated  to  submit  to  this  complex  hypnoti- 
zation,  but  I  cannot  even  imagine  a  crowd  of  normal  men 
that  could  make  anything  out  of  this  long  and  confused 
artificial  production,  but  some  short  passages  drowned  in 
a  sea  of  the  incomprehensible.  And  so  I  am  involunta- 
rily obliged  to  conclude  that  this  production  belongs  to 
bad  art.  What  is  remarkable  is  that  to  the  end  of  the 
symphony  there  is  attached  Schiller's  poem  which  ex- 
presses the  idea,  though  not  clearly,  that  sensation 
(Schiller  speaks  only  of  the  sensation  of  joy)  unites 
people  and  evokes  love  in  them.  Although  this  song  is 
sung  at  the  end  of  the  symphony,  the  music  does  not  cor- 
respond to  the  thought  of  the  poem,  since  this  music  is 
exclusive  and  does  not  unite  all  men,  but  only  a  few, 
separating  them  from  the  rest  of  men. 


WHAT   IS    ART?  307 

In  precisely  the  same  manner  one  would  have  to  judge 
many,  very  many  productions  of  art  of  every  description, 
which  among  the  higher  classes  of  our  society  are  con- 
sidered to  be  great.  By  the  same,  the  only  firm  criterion 
one  would  have  to  judge  the  famous  Divine  Comedy  and 
Jerusalem  Delivered,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  produc- 
tions of  Shakespeare  and  Gothe,  and  in  painting  all  the 
representations  of  miracles  and  Raphael's  "  Transfigura- 
tion," and  so  forth.  No  matter  what  the  subject  may  be 
which  is  given  out  as  a  production  of  art,  and  no  matter 
how  it  may  be  lauded  by  men,  to  find  out  its  value,  it  is 
necessary  to  apply  to  it  the  question  whether  the  subject 
belongs  to  real  art  or  to  its  adulterations.  Having  on 
the  basis  of  the  sign  of  infectiousness  of  even  a  small 
circle  of  men  recognized  a  certain  object  as  belonging  to 
the  sphere  of  art,  it  is  necessary  on  the  basis  of  the  sign 
of  universal  accessibility  to  decide  the  following  question : 
whether  this  production  belongs  to  the  bad  exclusive  art, 
which  is  contrary  to  the  religious  consciousness  of  our 
time,  or  to  the  Christian  art,  which  unites  men.  Having 
recognized  a  subject  as  belonging  to  the  real  Christian 
art,  it  is  necessary  on  the  basis  of  this,  whether  the  pro- 
duction conveys  sensations  which  arise  from  the  love  of 
God  and  of  our  neighbour,  or  only  simple  sensations 
which  unite  all  men,  to  refer  it  to  one  class  or  another,  to 
religious  art  or  to  profane  universal  art. 

Only  on  the  basis  of  this  verification  shall  we  be  able 
to  segregate  in  the  whole  mass  of  what  in  our  society  is 
given  out  as  art  those  subjects  which  form  real,  impor- 
tant, necessary  spiritual  food  from  every  harmful  and  use- 
less art  and  its  imitation,  by  which  we  are  surrounded. 
Only  on  the  basis  of  this  verification  shall  we  be  able  to 
free  ourselves  from  the  deleterious  consequences  of  harm- 
ful art  and  to  make  use  of  the  beneficent  influence,  so 
necessary  for  the  spiritual  life  of  man  and  of  humanity, 
of  true  and  good  art,  which  forms  humanity's  destination. 


XVII. 

Art  is  one  of  the  two  organs  of  humanity's  progress. 
Through  words  man  shares  his  thoughts,  through  tlie 
images  of  art  he  shares  his  feelings  with  all  men,  not 
only  of  the  present,  but  also  of  the  past  and  the  future. 
It  is  proper  for  man  to  make  use  of  both  these  organs  of 
communication,  and  so  the  distortion  of  even  one  of  them 
cannot  help  but  exert  bad  influences  on  that  society  in 
which  this  distortion  has  taken  place.  The  consequences 
of  this  influence  must  be  twofold :  in  the  first  place,  an 
absence  in  society  of  that  activity  which  ought  to  be  per- 
formed by  that  organ,  and,  in  the  second  place,  the  harm- 
ful activity  of  the  distorted  organ ;  and  it  is  these 
consequences  which  have  appeared  in  our  society.  The 
organ  of  art  was  distorted,  and  so  the  society  of  the 
higher  classes  was  in  a  large  measure  deprived  of  that 
activity  which  this  organ  ought  to  perform.  On  the  one 
side,  the  enormously  widespread  adulterations  of  art  in 
our  society,  which  serve  only  for  the  aunisement  and  cor- 
ruption of  men,  and,  on  the  other,  the  productions  of  an 
insignificant,  exclusive  art,  which  is  esteemed  as  the 
highest,  have  in  the  majority  of  the  men  of  our  time 
distorted  the  ability  of  being  infected  by  the  true  pro- 
ductions of  art,  and  have  thus  deprived  them  of  the 
possibility  of  knowing  those  higher  sentiments  which 
humanity  has  attained  and  which  can  be  transmitted  to 
men  only  through  art. 

All  the  best  which  is  done  in  art  by  humanity  remains 
foreign  for  the  men  who  have  become  devoid  of  the 
ability  of  being  infected  by  art,  and  gives  way  to  false 

308 


WHAT   IS    ART?  309 

adulterations  of  art  or  to  insignificant  art,  which  is  taken 
for  the  real.  The  men  of  our  time  take  delight  in  a  Baude- 
laire, Verlaine,  Moreas,  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck  in  poetry ;  in  a 
Monet,  Manet,  Puvis  de  Chavannes,  Burne-Jones,  Stuck, 
Bockliu  in  painting ;  in  a  Wagner,  Liszt,  Pdchard  Strauss 
in  music,  and  so  forth,  and  are  unable  to  understand 
either  the  highest  or  the  simplest  art. 

In  the  midst  of  the  highest  classes,  in  consequence  of 
the  loss  of  the  abihty  of  being  infected  by  the  productions 
of  art,  men  grow,  are  educated,  and  live  without  the  miti- 
gating, beneficent  influence  of  art,  and  so  not  only  do  not 
move  toward  perfection,  do  not  become  better,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  with  a  high  development  of  external  means 
become  more  savage,  coarser,  and  more  cruel. 

Such  is  the  consequence  of  the  absence  of  the  activity 
of  the  necessary  organ  of  art  in  our  society.  The  conse- 
quences of  the  distorted  activity  of  this  organ  are  more 
harmful  still,  and  there  are  many  of  them. 

The  first  startHng  consequence  is  an  enormous  waste  of 
the  labours  of  working  men  for  a  work  which  is  not  only 
useless,  but  for  the  most  part,  even  harmful,  and,  besides, 
an  unrewarded  waste  of  human  lives  for  this  useless  and 
bad  work.  It  is  terrible  to  think  with  what  tension,  with 
what  privations,  millions  of  men,  who  have  no  time  and 
no  chance  to  do  for  themselves  and  for  their  families  what 
is  necessary,  work  for  ten,  twelve,  and  fourteen  hours  at 
night  in  order  to  set  up  so-called  artistic  books,  which 
carry  debauchery  among  men,  or  to  work  for  theatres, 
concerts,  expositions,  galleries,  which  serve  mainly  the 
same  debauchery  ;  but  most  terrible  of  all  it  is  to  think 
that  live,  good  children,  who  are  capable  of  everything 
good,  devote  themselves  from  their  earliest  years,  some  for 
ten  or  fifteen  years,  to  playing  the  gamuts  for  six,  eight, 
and  ten  hours  each  day ;  others,  to  contorting  their  limbs, 
walking  on  tiptoe,  and  raising  their  legs  above  their  heads  ; 
others  again,  to  singing  solfeggios ;  others,  to  making  all 


310  WnA.T   IS   ART? 

kinds  of  grimaces  in  declaiming  verses  ;  others,  to  drawing 
from  busts,  from  naked  nature,  to  painting  studies  ;  others, 
to  writing  compositions  according  to  the  rules  of  certain 
periods,  —  and  in  these  occupations,  which  are  unworthy 
of  a  man,  and  which  are  frequently  continued  after  full 
maturity,  lose  every  physical  and  mental  force  and  all 
comprehension  of  life.  They  say  that  it  is  terrible  and 
pitiful  to  look  at  the  young  acrobats,  who  throw  their  legs 
over  their  shoulders ;  but  it  is  not  less  pitiful  to  look  at 
ten-year-old  children  who  give  concerts,  and  still  more  so 
at  ten-year-old  gymnasiasts  who  know  by  heart  the  ex- 
ceptions of  Latin  grammar. 

By  this  men  are  not  only  deformed  physically  and 
mentally,  —  they  ^ve  also  deformed  morally  and  become 
incapable  of  doing  anything  which  is  really  needful  to 
men.  Occupying  in  society  the  role  of  amusers  of  the  rich, 
they  lose  the  feeling  of  their  human  dignity,  and  to  such 
an  extent  develop  in  themselves  the  passion  for  public 
laudations  that  they  always  suffer  from  unsatisfied  am- 
bition, which  is  in  them  developed  to  morbid  dimensions, 
and  use  all  their  spiritual  forces  for  nothing  but  the  grati- 
fication of  tliis  passion.  And  what  is  most  tragical  of  all 
is  this,  that  these  men,  who  for  the  sake  of  art  are  lost  to 
life,  not  only  ai'e  of  no  use  to  art,  but  even  do  it  the 
greatest  harm.  In  the  academies,  gynmasia,  conserva- 
tories, they  teach  how  to  adulterate  art,  and,  learning 
this,  the  men  are  so  corrupted  that  they  completely  lose 
the  ability  of  producing  real  art  and  become  purveyors  of 
that  adulterated,  or  insignificant,  or  corrupt  art  whicli 
fills  our  world.  In  this  does  the  first  startling  consequence 
of  the  distortion  of  the  organ  of  art  lie. 

The  second  consequence  is  this,  that  the  productions  of 
art  are  amusements  which  are  produced  by  an  army  of  pro- 
fessional artists  in  stunning  quantities,  and  which  give  the 
rich  men  of  our  time  a  chance  to  live  a  life  which  is  not 
vnly  not  natural,  but  is  even  contrary  to  the  principles  of 


WHAT    IS    ART?  311 

humaneness  which  these  men  themselves  profess.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  live  as  do  the  rich,  idle  people, 
especially  tlie  women,  removed  from  Nature  and  from 
animals,  in  artificial  conditions,  with  atrophied  muscles  or 
with  muscles  deformed  by  gymnastics  and  with  a  weakened 
energy  of  life,  if  there  did  not  exist  what  is  called  art,  if 
there  were  not  that  distraction,  that  amusement,  which 
veils  these  people's  eyes  from  the  senselessness  of  their 
lives  and  saves  them  from  tantahzing  ennui.  Take  away 
from  all  these  people  the  theatres,  concerts,  exhibitions, 
piano  playing,  novels,  romances,  with  which  they  busy 
themselves,  with  the  assurance  that  occupation  with  these 
subjects  is  a  very  refined,  aesthetic,  and  therefore  good 
occupation,  take  away  from  the  Maecenases  of  art,  who 
buy  pictures,  patronize  musicians,  commune  with  writers, 
their  role  of  protectors  of  the  important  business  of  art, 
and  they  will  not  be  able  to  continue  their  lives,  and  all 
will  perish  from  ennui,  tedium,  and  the  consciousness  of 
the  meaninglessness  and  illegality  of  their  lives.  Only 
occupation  with  what  among  them  is  considered  art  gives 
them  the  possibility  of  continuing  to  live,  though  violating 
all  the  natural  conditions  of  life,  without  noticing  the 
meaninglessness  and  cruelty  of  their  lives.  This  support 
of  the  false  life  of  the  rich  is  the  second  and  by  no  means 
unimportant  consequence  of  the  distortion  of  art. 

The  third  consequence  of  the  distortion  of  art  is  that 
confusion  which  it  produces  in  the  conceptions  of  the 
children  and  of  the  masses.  The  people  who  are  not 
distorted  by  the  false  theories  of  our  society,  the  working 
people,  the  children,  possess  a  very  definite  conception  as 
to  what  people  may  be  respected  and  praised  for.  As  a 
basis  for  extolling  and  honouring  people,  according  to  the 
conceptions  of  the  masses  and  of  the  children,  may  serve 
either  physical  force,  —  Hercules,  heroes,  conquerors,  —  or 
moral,  spiritual  force,  —  Sakya-Muni,  who  abandons  his 
beautiful  wife  and  his  kingdom,  in  order  to  save  men,  or 


312  WHAT    IS    ART? 

Christ,  who  goes  to  the  cross  for  the  human  race,  and  all 
the  martyrs  and  saints.  Either  is  comprehensible  to  the 
masses  and  to  the  children.  They  understand  that  one 
cannot  avoid  respecting  physical  force,  because  it  compels 
respect ;  nor  can  an  uncorrupted  man  help  respecting  the 
moral  force  of  goodness,  because  his  whole  spiritual  being 
draws  him  toward  it.  And  these  people,  —  the  children 
and  the  masses,  —  suddenly  see  that,  besides  the  men  who 
are  praised,  respected,  and  rewarded  for  their  physical  and 
their  moral  force,  there  are  also  people  who  are  praised^ 
respected,  and  rewarded  to  an  even  far  greater  extent  than 
the  heroes  of  force  and  of  goodness,  for  no  other  reason 
than  that  they  sing  well,  compose  verses,  and  dance. 
They  see  that  singers,  authors,  painters,  dancers,  make 
millions,  that  greater  honours  are  conferred  upon  them 
than  upon  the  saints,  and  the  men  of  the  masses  and  the 
children  are  perplexed. 

Fifty  years  after  Pushkin's  death,  when  simultaneously 
cheap  editions  of  his  works  were  disseminated  among  the 
masses,  and  a  monument  was  reared  to  his  memory  in 
Moscow,  I  received  more  than  ten  letters  from  various 
peasants,  asking  me  why  Pushkin  was  honoured  so  much. 
The  other  day  I  had  a  visit  from  a  literate  burgher  from 
the  Government  of  Saratov,  who  had  apparently  gone  mad 
on  this  question,  and  was  on  his  way  to  Moscow  to  arraign 
the  clergy  for  having  cooperated  in  the  erection  of  the 
"  moniment  "  to  Mr.  Pushkin.     . 

Indeed,  we  may  imagine  the  state  of  such  a  man  from 
the  masses,  when  he  learns  from  the  newspapers  and  the 
rumours  which  reach  him  that  in  Eussia  the  clergy, 
the  authorities,  all  the  best  men  of  the  country,  with 
solemnity  erect  a  monument  to  a  great  man,  a  benefactor, 
the  glory  of  Eussia,  —  to  Pushkin,  of  whom  he  has  not 
heard  anything  heretofore.  On  all  sides  he  reads  or 
hears  of  this,  and  he  supposes  that  if  such  honours  are  be- 
stowed on  a  man,  he  must  certainly  have  done  something 


WHAT    IS    ART?  313 

unusual,  either  something  strong  or  something  good.  He 
tries  to  find  out  who  Pushkin  was,  and  having  learned 
that  Pushkin  was  not  a  hero  or  a  general,  but  a  private 
person  and  an  author,  he  draws  the  conclusion  that  Push- 
kin must  have  been  a  holy  man  and  a  teacher  of  goodness, 
and  hastens  to  read  his  works  and  to  hear  something 
about  his  life.  But  what  must  his  perplexity  be,  when 
he  learns  that  Pushkin  was  a  man  of  more  than  light 
manners,  that  he  died  in  a  duel,  that  is,  during  an  en- 
deavour to  take  another  man's  life,  and  that  his  whole 
desert  consists  in  nothing  but  this,  that  he  wrote  verses 
about  love,  which  frequently  were  quite  indecent. 

He  understands  that  Alexander  of  Macedon,  Dzhiugis 
Khan,  or  Napoleon  was  great,  because  any  of  them  could 
have  crushed  him  and  thousands  like  him.  He  also 
understands  that  Buddha,  Socrates,  and  Christ  are  great ; 
that  Buddha,  Socrates,  and  Christ  are  great,  he  also  under- 
stands, because  he  knows  and  feels  that  he  and  all  men 
should  be  such ;  but  why  a  man  is  great  for  having  writ- 
ten verses  about  feminine  love,  is  something  which  he 
cannot  understand. 

The  same  must  take  place  in  the  head  of  a  Breton,  a 
Norman  peasant,  who  learns  of  the  erection  of  a  monu- 
ment to  Baudelaire,  "  une  statue,"  like  one  to  the  Virgin 
Mary,  and  hears  the  Fleurs  du  Mai  read,  or  is  told  of  its 
contents,  or,  more  markedly  still,  when  he  learns  of  one  to 
Verlaine,  and  hears  of  that  miserable,  dissipated  life  which 
this  man  led,  and  reads  his  verses.  And  what  confusion 
must  take  place  in  the  heads  of  the  people  from  the 
masses,  when  they  learn  that  a  Patti  or  Taglioni  receives 
one  hundred  thousand  roubles  for  the  season,  or  an  artist 
receives  just  as  much  for  a  picture,  and  authors  of  novels, 
who  describe  love-scenes,  receive  even  more. 

The  same  takes  place  with  children.  I  remember  how 
I  experienced  that  amazement  and  perplexity,  and  how  I 
made  my  peace  with  these  laudations  of  artists  on  a  par 


314  WHAT    IS   ART? 

with  physical  and  moral  heroes  only  by  lowering  in  my 
consciousness  the  meaning  of  moral  worth  and  by  recog- 
nizing a  false,  unnatural  meaning  in  the  productions  of 
art.  Precisely  the  same  takes  place  in  the  soul  of  every 
child  and  every  man  from  the  masses,  when  he  learns  of 
those  strange  honours  and  rewards  which  are  bestowed  on 
artists.  Such  is  the  third  consequence  of  the  false  rela- 
tion of  our  society  to  art. 

The  fourth  consequence  of  such  a  relation  consists  in 
this,  that  the  men  of  the  higher  classes,  meeting  more  and 
more  frequently  with  the  contradictions  between  beauty 
and  goodness,  set  up  as  the  highest  ideal  the  ideal  of 
beauty,  thus  freeing  themselves  from  the  demands  of 
morality.  These  men  distort  the  roles  and,  instead  of  rec- 
ognizing, as  they  ought  to,  the  art  which  they  serve  as 
obsolete,  recognize  morality  as  obsolete  and  as  incapable 
of  having  any  meaning  for  men  who  stand  on  that  high 
level  of  development  on  which  they  imagine  they  are 
standing. 

This  consequence  of  the  false  relation  to  art  has  long 
ago  shown  itself  in  our  society,  but  has  of  late  been 
expressed  with  extraordinary  boldness  by  its  prophet 
Nietzsche  and  his  followers  and  the  decadents  and  the 
English  aesthetes  who  coincide  with  them.  The  deca- 
dents and  the  sesthetes,  like  Oscar  Wilde,  choose  as  the 
theme  of  their  productions  the  denial  of  morality  and 
the  laudation  of  debauchery. 

This  art  has  partly  begot  a  similar  philosophic  teaching, 
and  partly  coincided  with  it.  Lately  I  received  from 
America  a  book  under  the  title  of  Tlie  Survival  of  the 
Fittest,  Philosophy  of  Power,  by  Eagnar  Redbeard,  Chicago : 
1896.  The  essence  of  this  book,  as  expressed  in  the 
publisher's  preface,  is  this,  that  it  is  madness  to  value 
goodness  according  to  the  false  philosophy  of  the  Jewish 
prophets  and  weeping  Messiahs.  All  the  laws,  command- 
ments, teachings  about  not  doing  to  another  what  you  do 


WHAT   IS   ART?  315 

not  wish  to  have  done  you,  have  in  themselves  no  mean- 
ing whatsoever  and  receive  a  meaning  only  from  the 
scourge,  the  prison,  and  the  sword.  A  truly  free  man  is 
not  obliged  to  obey  any  injunctions,  —  neither  human  nor 
divine.  Obedience  is  a  sign  of  degeneration ;  disobedi- 
ence is  a  sign  of  a  hero.  The  whole  world  is  a  slippery 
field  of  battle.  Ideal  justice  consists  in  this,  that  the 
conquered  should  be  exploited,  tortured,  despised.  The 
free  and  brave  man  can  conquer  the  whole  world.  And 
so  there  ought  to  be  an  eternal  war  for  life,  for  land,  for 
love,  for  women,  for  power,  for  gold.  (Something  similar 
was  a  few  years  ago  expressed  by  the  famous  and  refined 
French  academician,  Vogii^.)  The  land  with  its  treasures 
is  "  the  prey  of  him  who  is  bold." 

The  author  has  evidently,  independently  of  Nietzsche, 
come  unconsciously  to  the  same  conclusions  which  the 
modern  artists  profess. 

These  propositions,  expounded  in  the  form  of  a  doctrine, 
startle  us.  In  reality,  these  propositions  are  included  in 
the  ideal  of  the  art  which  serves  beauty.  The  art  of  our 
higher  classes  has  fostered  in  men  this  ideal  of  the  over- 
man, in  reality  the  old  ideal  of  Nero,  St^nka  Eazin, 
Dzhingis  Khan,  Robert  Macaire,  Napoleon,  and  all  their 
fellows  in  thought,  abettors,  and  flatterers,  and  with  all 
its  power  confirms  this  ideal  in  them. 

It  is  in  this  substitution  of  the  ideal  of  beauty,  that  is, 
of  enjoyment,  for  the  ideal  of  morahty,  that  the  fourth, 
terrible  consequence  of  the  distortion  of  the  art  of  our 
society  is  to  be  found.  It  is  terrible  to  contemplate  what 
would  happen  with  humanity  if  such  art  were  dissemi- 
nated among  the  masses  of  the  people.  It  is,  indeed, 
beginning  to  be  disseminated  among  them. 

Finally,  the  fifth  and  most  important  consequence  is 
this,  that  the  art  which  flourishes  in  the  midst  of  our 
higher  classes  of  European  society,  directly  corrupts 
people  by  infecting  them  with  the  very  worst  sentiments. 


316  WHAT   IS   AKT? 

most  harmful  to  humanity,  of  superstition,  —  patriotism, 
—  and,  above  all,  voluptuousness. 

Look  attentively  at  the  causes  of  the  ignorance  of  the 
popular  masses,  and  you  will  see  that  the  chief  cause  is 
by  no  means  the  scarcity  of  schools  and  libraries,  as  we 
are  accustomed  to  think,  but  those  superstitions,  both 
ecclesiastic  and  patriotic,  with  which  they  are  saturated, 
and  which  are  incessantly  produced  by  all  the  means  of 
art:  the  ecclesiastical  superstitions  by  the  poetry  of  the 
prayers  and  hynms,  by  the  painting  and  sculpture  of 
images  and  statues,  by  singing,  organs,  music,  and  archi- 
tecture, and  even  by  the  dramatic  art  in  the  church  ser- 
vices ;  the  patriotic  superstitions  by  the  poems  and  stories 
which  are  communicated  in  schools,  by  music,  singing, 
festive  processions,  receptions,  mihtary  spectacles,  monu- 
ments. 

If  it  were  not  for  this  constant  activity  of  all  the 
branches  of  art  for  the  support  of  the  ecclesiastic  and 
patriotic  obfuscation  and  deterioration  of  the  people, 
the  masses  would  have  long  ago  attained  true  enlighten- 
ment. But  it  is  not  only  the  ecclesiastic  and  patriotic  cor- 
ruption that  is  achieved  by  art.  Art  serves  in  our  time 
as  the  chief  cause  of  the  corruption  of  people  in  the  most 
important  question  of  social  life,  —  in  the  sexual  relations. 
We  all  know  this  in  our  own  case,  and  parents  know  from 
their  children  what  terrible  spiritual  and  physical  suffer- 
ings, wbat  useless  waste  of  forces,  men  experience  through 
the  mere  dissipation  of  the  sexual  lust. 

Ever  since  the  world  has  existed,  from  the  time  of  the 
Trojan  War,  which  arose  from  sexual  dissipation,  up  to 
the  suicides  and  murders  of  lovers,  accounts  of  which 
they  print  in  almost  any  newspaper,  the  greatest  part 
of  the  sufferings  of  the  human  race  have  been  due  to  this 
dissipation. 

Well  ?  All  art,  both  the  real  and  the  adulterated,  is 
with  the  rarest  exceptions  devoted  to  nothing  but  the  de- 


WHAT    IS    ART  ?  317 

scription,  representation,  excitation  of  every  kind  of  sexual 
love,  in  all  its  forms.  One  needs  but  to  recall  all  those 
novels  with  their  lust-exciting  descriptions  of  love,  both 
such  as  are  most  refined  and  such  as  are  most  gross,  with 
which  the  literature  of  our  society  is  filled,  —  all  those 
pictures  and  statues  which  represent  the  nude  female 
body,  and  all  those  abominations  which  have  been  intro- 
duced in  the  illustrations  and  advertisements,  —  one  needs 
but  recall  all  those  lascivious  operas,  operettas,  songs, 
romances,  with  which  our  world  teems,  in  order  to  think 
involuntarily  that  the  existing  art  has  but  one  definite 
aim,  —  the  widest  possible  dissemination  of  debauchery. 

Such  are,  if  not  all,  at  least  the  most  certain  conse- 
quences of  that  distortion  of  art  which  has  taken  place  in 
our  society.  Thus,  what  in  our  society  is  called  art  not 
only  does  not  contribute  to  the  forward  movement  of 
humanity,  but  almost  more  certainly  than  anything  else 
interferes  with  the  realization  of  the  good  in  our  life. 

And  so  to  the  question  which  involuntarily  presents 
itself  to  evcy  man  who  is  free  from  the  activity  of  art, 
and  who,  therefore,  has  no  interested  connection  with  the 
existing  art,  —  a  question  which  was  put  by  me  in 
the  beginning  of  this  writing  as  to  the  justice  of  making 
sacrifices  in  human  labours,  and  human  lives,  and  moral- 
ity, such  as  are  made  to  what  we  call  art,  which  forms 
the  possession  of  but  a  small  portion  of  society,  —  to  this 
question  we  get  the  natural  answer:  No,  it  is  not  just, 
and  it  ought  not  to  be  so.  Thus  answers  common  sense 
and  the  uncorrupted  moral  sense.  Not  only  ought  it  not 
to  be,  not  only  ought  we  make  no  sacrifices  to  what 
among  us  is  acknowledged  to  be  art,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
all  the  efforts  of  the  men  who  wish  to  live  well  ought  to 
be  directed  to  the  destruction  of  this  art,  because  it  is 
one  of  the  most  cruel  evils  and  weighs  heavily  upon  our 
humanity.  Thus,  if  the  question  were  put  as  to  whether 
it  is  better  for  our  Christian  world  to  be  deprived  of 


318  WHAT   IS   ART? 

everything  which  is  now  called  art  together  with  the  false 
art,  and  of  everything  good,  as  it  now  exists,  I  think  that 
every  rational  and  moral  man  would  again  solve  the 
question  as  Plato  solved  it  for  his  republic  and  as  all 
the  ecclesiastic  Christian  and  Mohammedan  teachers  of 
humanity  have  solved  it ;  that  is,  he  would  say,  "  It  would 
be  better  if  there  were  no  art  at  all,  than  that  the  present 
corrupt  art,  or  its  semblance,  should  be  continued."  For- 
tunately, this  question  is  not  put  to  any  man,  and  no  one 
has  an  occasion  to  solve  it  in  one  way  or  another.  Every- 
thing which  a  man  may  do  and  we  can  and  must  do,  we, 
the  so-called  cultured  people,  who  by  our  position  are 
enabled  to  understand  the  significance  of  the  phenomena 
of  our  life,  —  is  to  understand  that  error  in  which  we  are, 
and  not  to  persist  in  it  stubbornly,  but  to  search  for  a  way 
out  from  it. 


XVIII. 

The  cause  of  the  lie  into  which  the  art  of  our  society 
has  fallen  consisted  in  this,  that  the  men  of  the  higher 
classes,  having  lost  faith  in  the  truths  of  the  ecclesiastic, 
so-called  Christian,  teaching,  did  not  make  up  their  minds 
to  accept  the  true,  Christian  teaching  in  its  true  and  chief 
significance,  as  the  filial  relation  to  God  and  the  brother- 
hood of  men,  but  continued  to  live  without  any  faith, 
trying  to  substitute  for  the  absent  faith,  either  hypocrisy, 
pretending  that  they  still  believed  in  the  absurdities  of 
the  ecclesiastic  faith,  or  a  bold  proclamation  of  their  un- 
belief, or  a  refined  skepticism,  or  a  return  to  the  Greek 
worship  of  beauty,  a  recognition  of  the  legality  of  egotism, 
and  its  elevation  to  the  dignity  of  a  rehgious  teaching. 

The  cause  of  the  disease  was  the  non-acceptance  of 
Christ's  teaching  in  its  true,  that  is,  in  its  full,  meaning. 
The  cure  of  this  disease  consists  only  in  one  thing,  —  in 
the  recognition  of  this  teaching  in  its  full  force.  This 
recognition  is  in  our  time  not  only  possible,  but  also  in- 
dispensable. It  is  impossible  in  our  time  for  a  man  who 
stands  on  the  level  of  the  knowledge  of  our  time  to  say, 
be  he  Catholic  or  Protestant,  that  he  believes  in  the 
dogmas  of  the  church,  the  trinity  of  God,  the  divinity 
of  Christ,  the  redemption;  and  it  is  also  impossible  for 
him  to  be  satisfied  with  a  proclamation  of  unbelief,  skep- 
ticism, or  a  return  to  the  worship  of  beauty  and  to  egotism, 
and,  above  all  else,  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  say  that  we 
do  not  know  the  true  significance  of  Christ's  teaching. 
The  significance  of  this  teaching  has  not  only  become 
accessible  to  all  men  of  our  time,  but  the  whole  life  of 

319 


320  WHAT    IS    ART? 

the  men  of  our  time  is  permeated  by  the  spirit  of  this 
teaching  and  is  consciously  and  unconsciously  guided 
by  it. 

No  matter  how  differently  in  form  the  men  of  our 
Christian  world  may  determine  man's  destination,  whether 
they  understand  by  this  destination  the  progress  of  hu- 
manity, no  matter  in  what  sense,  the  union  of  all  men  in 
a  socialistic  government  or  commune,  or  whether  they 
recognize  a  universal  union  to  be  this  destination,  or 
whether  they  recognize  this  destination  to  consist  in  the 
union  with  a  fantastic  Christ  or  the  union  of  humanity 
under  the  one  leadership  of  the  church,  —  no  matter  how 
varied  in  form  these  definitions  of  the  destination  of  the 
human  life  may  be,  all  the  men  of  our  time  recognize  that 
man's  destination  is  the  good ;  now  the  highest  good  of  life, 
which  is  accessible  to  men,  is  obtained  through  the  union 
of  men  among  themselves. 

No  matter  how  much  the  men  of  the  higher  classes, 
feeling  that  their  significance  is  based  on  their  segregation, 
—  the  segregation  of  the  rich  and  the  learned  from  the 
labouring  men  and  the  poor  and  the  unlearned,  —  may 
try  to  invent  new  world  conceptions,  by  which  they 
may  retain  their  prerogatives,  —  now  the  ideal  of  a  return 
to  antiquity,  now  mysticism,  now  Hellenism,  now  over- 
manhood,  —  they  are  willy-nilly  compelled  to  recognize 
the  truth,  which  unconsciously  and  consciously  is  being 
established  in  life,  that  our  good  is  to  be  found  only  in 
the  union  and  brotherhood  of  men. 

Unconsciously  this  truth  is  confirmed  by  the  establish- 
ment of  roads  of  communication,  telegraphs,  telephones, 
the  press,  the  ever-growing  accessibility  of  all  the  goods 
of  the  world  for  all  men  ;  and  consciously,  by  the  aboli- 
tion of  superstitions  which  separate  men,  by  the  dissem- 
ination of  the  truths  of  science,  by  the  expression  of  the 
ideal  of  the  brotherhood  of  men  in  the  best  productions 
of  the  art  of  our  time. 


WHAT   IS   ART?  321 

Art  is  a  spiritual  organ  of  human  life  and  cannot  be 
destroyed,  and  so  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  which  are 
made  by  the  men  of  the  higher  classes  to  conceal  that 
religious  ideal  by  which  humanity  lives,  this  ideal  is  more 
and  more  recognized  by  men  and  is  more  and  more  fre- 
quently expressed  within  our  corrupt  society  partly  in 
art  and  in  science.  Beginning  with  the  present  century, 
there  have  with  increasing  frequency  appeared  in  litera- 
ture and  in  painting  such  productions  of  the  highest 
rehgious  art,  which  are  permeated  by  the  true  Christian 
spirit,  like  the  productions  of  the  universal  worldly  art 
which  is  accessible  to  all  men.  Thus  art  itself  knows  the 
true  ideal  of  our  time,  and  strives  after  it.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  best  productions  of  the  art  of  our  time  convey 
sentiments  which  draw  men  toward  union  and  brother- 
hood (such  are  the  productions  of  Dickens,  Hugo,  Do- 
stoevski ;  in  art  —  Millet,  Bastien  Lepage,  Jules  Breton, 
L'Hermite,  and  others) ;  on  the  other  hand,  they  strive 
after  conveying  not  only  such  sentiments  as  are  peculiar 
to  the  men  of  the  higher  classes,  but  such  as  might  unite 
all  men  without  exception.  There  are  at  present  but  few 
such  productions,  but  the  need  of  them  is  already  recog- 
nized. Besides,  of  late  there  appear  ever  more  frequently 
attempts  at  popular  editions,  pictures,  concerts,  theatres. 
All  this  is  so  far,  very  far  from  what  it  ought  to  be,  but 
we  already  see  the  direction  along  wliich  art  itself  is 
moving  in  order  to  enter  upon  its  proper  path. 

The  religious  consciousness  of  our  time,  which  consists 
in  recoguizing  the  aim  of  hfe,  both  the  common  and  the 
individual,  in  the  union  of  men,  has  been  sufficiently 
elucidated,  and  the  men  of  our  time  need  only  reject  the 
false  theory  of  beauty,  according  to  which  enjoyment  is 
recognized  as  the  aim  of  art,  in  order  that  the  religious 
consciousness  may  naturally  become  the  guide  of  the  art 
of  our  time. 

And  as  soon  as  the  religious  consciousness,  which  is 


322  WHAT    IS    ART? 

already  unconsciously  guiding  the  life  of  the  men  of  our 
time,  shall  be  consciously  recognized  by  men,  there  will 
immediately  of  its  own  accord  be  destroyed  the  division 
of  art  into  that  of  the  lower  and  that  of  the  higher  classes. 
There  will  be,  instead,  a  fraternal  art ;  in  the  first  place, 
there  will  naturally  be  rejected  the  art  which  conveys 
sentiments  which  are  incongruous  with  the  religious  con- 
sciousness of  our  time,  —  sentiments  which  do  not  unite, 
but  disunite  men,  and,  in  the  second  place,  there  will  be 
destroyed  that  insignificant,  exclusive  art,  which  now 
holds  a  place  which  is  unbecoming  to  it. 

And  as  soon  as  this  shall  happen,  art  will  cease  to  be 
what  it  has  been  of  late,  —  a  means  for  dulling  and  cor- 
rupting people,  and  will  become  what  it  has  always  been 
and  ought  to  be,  —  a  means  for  moving  humanity  toward 
union  and  the  good. 

It  is  terrible  to  say  so,  but  what  has  happened  to  the 
art  of  our  time  is  what  happens  to  a  woman  who  sells 
her  feminine  charms,  which  are  intended  for  motherhood, 
for  the  enjoyment  of  those  who  are  prone  to  such  enjoy- 
ments. 

The  art  of  our  time  and  of  our  circle  has  become  a 
harlot.  And  this  comparison  is  correct  to  the  minutest 
details.  It  is  just  as  unlimited  in  time,  just  as  painted 
up,  just  as  venal,  just  as  enticing,  and  just  as  pernicious. 

The  true  production  of  art  will  but  rarely  be  manifested 
in  the  soul  of  the  artist,  as  a  fruit  of  his  previous  life, 
just  like  the  conception  of  the  child  by  a  mother.  But 
adulterated  art  is  uninterruptedly  produced  by  masters 
and  artisans,  so  long  as  there  are  customers  for  it. 

True  art,  like  the  wife  of  a  loving  husband,  does  not 
need  any  adornments ;  but  adulterated  art,  like  a  prosti- 
tute, must  always  be  painted  up. 

As  a  cause  for  the  manifestation  of  true  art  appears 
the  inner  necessity  to  express  the  accumulated  sentiment, 
just  as  love  is  the  cause  for  a  mother's  sexual  conception. 


WHAT   IS    ART?  323 

But  greed  is  the  cause  of  adulterated  art,  just  as  it  is  the 
cause  of  prostitution. 

The  consequence  of  true  art  is  the  introduction  of  a  new 
sentiment  into  the  routine  of  life,  just  as  the  consequence 
of  a  wife's  love  is  the  birth  of  a  new  man  into  the  world. 
The  consequence  of  adulterated  art  is  the  corruption  of  man, 
the  insatiability  of  enjoyments,  the  weakening  of  man's 
spiritual  forces. 

It  is  this  that  the  men  of  our  time  and  circle  must 
understand  in  order  that  they  may  free  themselves  from 
the  dirty  stream  of  this  corrupt  harlot  art,  which  is  over- 
whelming us. 


XIX. 

People  speak  of  the  art  of  the  future,  meaning  by  it  a 
special,  refined,  new  art,  which  is  supposed  to  be  worked 
out  in  time  from  the  art  of  the  one  class  which  is  now 
considered  to  be  the  highest.  But  there  can  be  no  such 
new  art  of  the  future,  and  there  will  be  none.  Our  ex- 
clusive art  of  the  higher  classes  of  the  Christian  world  has 
come  to  a  blind  alley.  On  the  path  on  which  it  has  travelled 
it  can  go  no  farther.  Having  once  departed  from  the  chief 
demand  of  art  (wliich  is,  that  it  should  be  guided  by  the 
religious  consciousness),  becoming  more  and  more  exclu- 
sive and  so  more  and  more  corrupt,  this  art  has  reached 
the  impossible  point.  The  art  of  the  future  —  the  one 
which  will  actually  exist  —  will  not  be  a  continuation  of 
the  present  art,  but  will  be  reared  on  entirely  different, 
new  foundations,  which  have  nothing  in  common  with 
those  by  which  our  present  art  of  the  highest  classes  is 
guided. 

The  art  of  the  future,  that  is,  that  part  of  art  which 
will  be  segregated  from  the  whole  art  disseminated  among 
men,  will  not  consist  in  the  transmission  of  sensations 
accessible  only  to  a  few  people  of  the  wealthy  classes,  as 
is  the  case  at  present,  but  will  be  only  that  art  which 
realizes  the  highest  religious  consciousness  of  the  people 
of  our  time.  Only  such  productions  will  be  considered 
art  as  will  convey  sentiments  which  draw  men  toward 
brotherly  union,  or  such  universal  sentiments  as  will  be 
able  to  unite  all  men.  Only  such  art  will  be  segregated, 
admitted,  approved  of,  disseminated.     But  the  art  which 

conveys    sentiments  which    result  from  the  obsolete  re- 

324 


WHAT   IS   ART?  325 

ligious  teaching  that  men  have  outlived,  —  the  ecclesiastic, 
patriotic,  amorous  arts,  which  convey  sensations  of  super- 
stitious awe,  pride,  vanity,  worship  of  heroes,  arts  which 
evoke  exclusive  love  for  one's  nation  or  sensuaHty,  will 
be  considered  bad,  harmful  arts,  and  will  be  condemned 
and  despised  by  public  opinion.  All  other  art,  which  con- 
veys sensations  accessible  to  but  a  few  men,  will  not  be 
considered  important,  and  will  neither  be  condemned  nor 
approved  of.  And  not  a  separate  class  of  wealthy  men,  as 
is  now  the  case,  but  the  whole  nation,  will  be  the  apprais- 
ers of  art,  so  that,  for  a  production  to  be  recognized  as 
good,  to  be  approved  of,  and  disseminated,  it  will  have  to 
satisfy  the  demands,  not  of  a  few  men,  who  live  under 
similar  and  frequently  under  unnatural  conditions,  but 
of  all  men,  of  the  great  masses  of  men,  who  live  under 
natural  conditions  of  labour. 

And  the  artists,  the  producers  of  art,  will  not,  as  at 
present,  be  those  exceptional  few,  selected  from  a  small 
part  of  the  people,  the  men  of  the  wealthy  classes  or  those 
who  are  near  to  them,  but  all  those  talented  men  of  the 
whole  people  who  will  prove  capable  and  inclined  toward 
an  artistic  activity. 

Then  the  artistic  activity  will  be  accessible  to  all  men. 
And  this  activity  will  become  accessible  to  all  men,  be- 
cause, in  the  first  place,  in  the  art  of  the  future  there  will 
be  demanded  not  only  no  complicated  technique  which 
disfigures  the  productions  of  art  of  our  time  and  demands 
great  tension  and  great  loss  of  time,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
clearness,  simplicity,  and  brevity,  —  those  conditions  which 
are  not  acquired  by  means  of  mechanical  exercises,  but 
by  the  education  of  the  taste.  In  the  second  place,  the 
artistic  activity  wall  become  accessible  to  all  men  of 
the  masses,  because  instead  of  the  present  professional 
schools,  which  are  accessible  to  but  a  few  men,  all  will  in 
primary  popular  schools  study  music  and  painting  (singing 
and  drawing)  on  a  par  with  reading  and  writing,  so  that 


326  WHAT   IS   ART? 

every  man,  having  received  his  first  foundations  of  paint- 
ing and  of  musical  science,  and  feeling  in  himself  the 
ability  and  the  calling  for  any  one  art,  would  be  able  to 
perfect  himself  in  it ;  and,  in  the  third  place,  all  the  forces 
which  now  are  wasted  on  false  art  will  be  used  for  the 
dissemination  of  true  art  among  the  masses. 

People  think  that  if  there  shall  be  no  special  schools  of 
art,  the  technique  of  art  will  be  weakened.  It  certainly 
will,  if  by  technique  is  meant  those  complications  of  art 
which  now  are  considered  to  be  its  distinguishing  features  ; 
but  if  by  technique  is  meant  lucidity,  beauty,  and  sim- 
plicity, —  a  conciseness  of  the  productions  of  art,  —  the 
technique  will  not  only  not  be  weakened,  as  is  proved  by 
all  popular  art,  but  will  be  improved  a  hundred  times, 
even  if  there  shall  be  no  professional  schools,  and  even 
if  they  did  not  teach  drawing  and  music  in  the  public 
schools.  It  will  be  made  perfect,  because  all  the  talented 
artists,  who  now  are  concealed  among  the  masses,  will 
become  participants  in  art  and  will  give,  having  no  need, 
as  at  present,  of  the  complex  technical  instruction,  and 
having  models  of  true  art  before  them,  new  models  of  true 
art,  which,  as  always,  will  be  the  best  school  of  technique 
for  the  artists.  Every  true  artist  even  now  does  not  study 
at  school,  but  in  life,  from  the  models  of  the  great  masters ; 
but  when  the  most  gifted  of  the  whole  people  shall  be 
participants  in  art,  and  there  shall  be  more  such  models, 
and  the  models  shall  be  more  accessible,  the  instruction  in 
school,  of  which  the  future  artist  will  be  deprived,  will  be 
made  up  for  a  hundred  times  over  by  that  instruction 
which  the  artist  will  receive  from  the  numerous  models 
of  the  good  art  which  will  be  disseminated  in  society. 

Such  will  be  one  of  the  distinctions  between  the  future 
and  the  present  art.  Another  distinction  will  be  this, 
that  the  art  of  the  future  will  not  be  produced  by  pro- 
fessional artists,  who  receive  rewards  for  their  art  and  do 
not  busy  themselves  with  anything  else  but  their  own  art. 


WHAT   IS    ART?  327 

The  art  of  the  future  •will  be  produced  by  all  the  people 
from  the  masses,  who  will  busy  themselves  with  it  when 
they  feel  a  need  for  this  activity. 

In  our  society  people  think  that  an  artist  will  work 
better  if  his  material  existence  is  made  secure.  This 
opinion  would  again  prove  with  complete  obviousness,  if 
there  were  still  any  need  of  such  a  proof,  that  what 
among  us  is  regarded  as  art  is  not  art,  but  only  its  sem- 
blance. It  is  quite  true  that  for  the  production  of  boots  or 
rolls  the  division  of  labour  is  very  advantageous,  —  that 
the  bootmaker  or  baker  who  is  not  compelled  to  prepare 
his  own  dinner  and  firewood  will  be  able  to  produce  more 
boots  or  rolls  than  if  he  himself  had  to  care  for  his  din- 
ners and  his  wood.  But  art  is  not  an  artisanship  ;  it  is 
the  conveyance  of  a  sensation  experienced  by  the  artist. 
Now  a  sensation  can  be  born  in  a  man  only  when  he  lives 
with  all  sides  of  his  natural  life  as  is  proper  to  all  men. 
And  so  the  provision  for  all  the  material  needs  of  the 
artists  is  a  most  pernicious  condition  for  their  productive- 
ness, since  it  frees  them  from  the  conditions  of  struggling 
with  Nature,  for  the  purpose  of  providing  for  their  own 
lives  and  for  those  of  others,  conditions  common  to  all 
men,  and  so  deprives  them  of  the  possibility  and  of  the 
opportunity  of  experiencing  the  most  important  sensations 
which  are  proper  to  all  men.  There  is  no  more  pernicious 
position  for  the  productiveness  of  an  artist  than  the  posi- 
tion of  complete  security  and  luxury  in  which  the  artist 
generally  lives  in  our  society. 

The  artist  of  the  future  will  live  the  usual  life  of  men, 
earning  his  living  by  some  labour.  The  fruits  of  that 
highest  spiritual  force  which  passes  through  him  he  will 
strive  to  give  to  the  greatest  number  of  men,  because  in 
this  transmission  of  the  sensations  arising  in  him  to  the 
greatest  number  of  men  is  his  joy  and  his  reward.  The 
artist  of  the  future  will  not  even  understand  how  an 
artist,  whose  chief  joy  consists  in  the  greatest  dissemina- 


328  WHAT    IS    ART? 

tion  of  his  work,  can  give  his  productions  only  at  a  certain 
price. 

So  long  as  the  merchants  are  not  sent  out  of  the  tem- 
ple, the  temple  of  art  will  not  be  a  temple.  The  art 
of  the  future  will  drive  them  out. 

And  so  the  contents  of  the  art  of  the  future,  as  I 
imagine  it,  will  be  absolutely  different  from  what  it  is 
now.  The  contents  of  the  art  of  the  future  will  not  form 
the  expression  of  exclusive  sensations,  such  as  ambition, 
dejection,  satiety,  and  amorousness  in  all  its  possible 
forms,  which  are  accessible  and  interesting  to  only  such 
people  as  have  freed  themselves  by  force  from  the  labour 
which  is  proper  to  men ;  it  will  form  the  expression  of 
sensations  experienced  by  a  man  who  lives  the  habitual 
life  of  all  men,  and  resulting  from  the  religious  conscious- 
ness of  our  time,  or  of  sensations  which  are  common  to 
all  men  without  exception. 

To  the  men  of  our  circle,  who  do  not  know  and  who 
cannot  or  will  not  know  those  sensations  which  must 
form  the  contents  of  the  art  of  the  future,  it  seems  that 
such  are  very  poor  contents  in  comparison  with  those 
finesses  of  the  exclusive  art  with  which  they  are  busying 
themselves.  "  What  new  thing  can  we  express  in  the 
sphere  of  the  Christian  sentiments  of  love  of  our  neigh- 
bour ?  The  sentiments  which  are  common  to  all  men  are 
so  insignificant  and  monotonous,"  they  think.  But  in  re- 
ality it  is  only  the  religious.  Christian  sentiments  and 
those  which  are  accessible  to  all  that  in  our  time  can  be 
truly  new  sentiments.  Sentiments  which  arise  from  the 
religious  consciousness  of  our  time,  the  Christian  senti- 
ments,  are  infinitely  new  and  varied ;  only  not  in  the 
sense  in  which  many  imagine  it,  which  is,  to  represent 
Christ  and  Gospel  episodes,  or  in  a  new  form  to  repeat 
the  Christian  truths  of  union,  brotherhood,  equahty,  love, 
but  in  the  sense  that  the  very  oldest  habitual,  thoroughly 
known  phenomena  of  life  evoke  the  newest,  most  unex- 


WHAT   IS   ART?  329 

pected,  and  most  touching  sentiments,  the  moment  a  man 
looks  upon  these  phenomena  from  the  Christian  point  of 
view. 

What  can  be  older  than  the  relations  of  husband  and 
wife,  of  parents  to  their  children,  of  children  to  their 
parents,  of  men  to  their  countrymen,  to  foreigners,  to 
attack,  to  defence,  to  property,  to  the  land,  to  the  ani- 
mals ?  But  the  moment  one  looks  upon  these  phenomena 
from  the  Christian  point  of  view,  there  immediately  arise 
infinitely  varied,  extremely  new,  most  complicated,  and 
most  touching  sentiments. 

Even  so  there  is  no  narrowing,  but  a  widening  of  the 
sphere  of  the  contents  of  that  art  of  the  future  which 
conveys  the  simplest,  most  accessible  worldly  sensations. 
In  our  former  art  only  the  expression  of  such  seusatious 
as  are  proper  to  men  of  a  certain  exclusive  condition  was 
considered  worthy  of  transmission,  and  that  only  under 
the  condition  of  transmitting  them  in  the  most  refined 
manner,  which  is  not  accessible  to  the  majority  of  men ; 
but  that  whole  immense  sphere  of  the  national  child's  art, 
jokes,  proverbs,  riddles,  songs,  dances,  children's  games, 
imitations,  was  not  considered  to  be  worthy  of  being  a 
subject  of  art. 

The  artist  of  the  future  will  understand  that  it  is  infi- 
nitely more  important  and  more  fruitful  to  compose  a 
little  fairy  tale,  a  song,  which  touches  people,  a  saw, 
a  riddle,  which  amuses  them,  a  joke,  which  makes  them 
laugh,  and  to  draw  a  picture  which  will  give  pleasure  to 
dozens  of  generations  or  to  millions  of  children  and  adults, 
than  to  compose  a  novel,  a  symphony,  or  to  draw  a  pic- 
ture, which  for  a  short  time  will  divert  a  few  of  wealthy 
classes  and  will  be  for  ever  forgotten.  Now  the  sphere 
of  this  art  of  simple  sensations,  accessible  to  all  men,  is 
immense  and  almost  untouched. 

Thus  the  art  of  the  future  will  not  only  not  be  poorer, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  will  be  infinitely  richer  in  contents. 


330  WHAT    IS    ART? 

Just  so  the  form  of  the  art  of  the  future  will  not  be  lower 
than  the  present  form  of  art,  but  will  be  incomparably 
higher,  —  not  higher  in  the  sense  of  a  refined  and  compli- 
cated technique,  but  in  the  sense  of  being  able  briefly, 
simply,  and  clearly  to  convey,  without  superfluity,  the 
sensation  which  the  artist  has  experienced  and  wishes  to 
communicate  to  others. 

I  remember  that  once  when  speaking  with  a  famous 
astronomer  who  was  giving  public  lectures  on  the  spectrum 
analysis  of  the  stars  of  the  Milky  Way,  I  said  to  him  how 
nice  it  would  be  if  he  with  his  knowledge  and  his  ability 
to  lecture  would  deliver  a  pubhc  lecture  on  cosmography 
about  the  most  important  motions  of  the  earth,  since 
amidst  the  hearers  of  his  lectures  on  the  spectrum  analysis 
of  the  stars  of  the  Milky  Way  there  were  very  many  people, 
especially  women,  who  did  not  exactly  know  what  pro- 
duces day  and  night,  winter  and  summer.  The  clever 
astronomer  smiled,  and  said  to  me,  "  Yes,  it  would  be 
nice,  but  that  is  very  hard.  It  is  much  easier  to  lecture 
on  the  spectrum  analysis  of  the  Milky  Way." 

The  same  is  true  of  art :  it  is  much  easier  to  write  a 
poem  in  verse  about  the  times  of  Cleopatra,  or  to  paint 
a  picture  of  Nero  burning  Kome,  or  to  compose  a  sym- 
phony in  the  sense  of  Brahms  and  Eichard  Strauss,  or  an 
opera  in  the  spirit  of  Wagner,  than  to  tell  a  simple  story 
without  anything  superfluous  and  yet  in  such  a  way  that 
it  may  convey  the  sentiment  of  the  narrator,  or  to 
draw  with  pencil  a  picture  which  would  touch  and 
amuse  the  spectator,  or  to  write  four  measures  of  a 
simple  and  clear  tune,  without  any  accompaniment,  which 
may  convey  a  mood  and  may  be  remembered  by  the 
hearers. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  us  now,  with  our  development,  to 
return  to  primitive  conditions,"  say  the  artists  of  our 
time.  "  It  is  impossible  for  us  now  to  write  such  stories 
as  the  story  of  Joseph  the  Fair,  as  the  Odyssey ;  to  sculp- 


WHAT   IS   ART?  331 

ture  such  statues  as  the  Venus  of  Melos ;  to  compose 
such  music  as  the  national  songs." 

And,  indeed,  this  is  impossible  for  the  artists  of  our 
time,  but  not  for  the  artist  of  the  future,  who  will  not 
know  all  the  debauch  of  technical  perfections  that  con- 
ceal the  absence  of  contents,  and  who,  not  being  a  profes- 
sional artist,  and  receiving  no  reward  for  his  activity,  will 
reproduce  art  only  when  he  feels  an  irrepressible  inner 
necessity  for  it. 

So  entirely  different  from  what  now  is  considered  art 
will  be  the  art  of  the  future,  both  in  contents  and  in 
form.  As  contents  for  the  art  of  the  future  will  serve 
only  sucli  sentiments  as  draw  men  toward  union  or 
already  unite  them  in  the  present ;  and  the  form  of  the 
art  will  be  such  as  will  be  accessible  to  all  men.  And 
so  the  ideal  of  the  future  perfection  will  not  be  in  the  ex- 
clusiveness  of  the  sentiment  which  is  accessible  to  but 
a  few,  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  its  universality  :  and  not  in 
the  bulk,  obscurity,  and  complexity  of  form,  as  it  is  con- 
sidered at  present,  but,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  brevity, 
lucidity,  and  simplicity  of  expression.  And  only  when  art 
shall  be  such,  will  it  not  amuse  and  corrupt  people,  as  is 
the  case  at  present,  demanding  for  this  a  waste  of  their 
best  forces,  but  be  what  it  ought  to  be,  —  a  tool  for  the 
transference  of  the  religious  Christian  consciousness  from 
the  sphere  of  reason  and  intellect  into  that  of  feehng, 
thus  bringing  people  actually  in  life  itself,  nearer  to  that 
perfection  and  union  which  the  religious  consciousness 
indicates  to  them. 


XX. 

CONCLUSION 

I  HAVE  performed  my  task  in  regard  to  a  subject  which 
is  near  to  me,  —  art,  —  and  which  has  interested  me  for 
fifteen  years,  as  well  as  I  could.  When  I  say  that  this 
subject  has  interested  me  for  fifteen  years,  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  I  have  been  fifteen  years  writing  this  work, 
but  only  that  about  fifteen  years  ago  I  began  to  write 
about  art,  thinking,  when  I  took  hold  of  this  work,  that 
I  should  end  it  at  once  without  interruption  ;  but  it  turned 
out  that  my  ideas  respecting  this  subject  at  that  time 
were  yet  so  little  clear  that  I  was  unable  satisfactorily  to 
myself  to  expound  them.  Since  then  I  have  uninter- 
ruptedly thought  about  this  subject  and  have  six  or  seven 
times  started  to  write  on  it,  but  every  time,  after  I  had 
written  quite  a  little,  I  felt  unable  to  finish  the  work  and 
so  abandoned  it.  Now  I  have  finished  it,  and,  no  matter 
how  badly  I  may  have  done  it,  I  hope  that  my  funda- 
mental idea  about  the  false  path  on  which  the  art  of  our 
time  is  standing  and  proceeding,  and  about  its  cause,  and 
about  what  the  true  mission  of  art  consists  in,  is  correct, 
and  that,  therefore,  my  labour,  though  far  from  being 
complete,  and  demanding,  many,  many  elucidations  and 
additions,  will  not  be  spent  in  vain,  and  that  art  sooner 
or  later  will  abandon  that  false  path  on  which  it  now 
stands.  But  that  this  may  happen  and  that  art  may  take 
the  new  direction,  it  is  necessary  that  another,  a  just  as 
important  spiritual   activity,  —  science,  —  on  which  art 

33a 


WHAT   IS   ART?  333 

has  always  been  closely  dependent,  should,  like  art,  leave 
the  false  path  on  which  it  now  is. 

Science  and  art  are  as  closely  related  as  the  lungs  and 
the  heart,  so  that  if  one  organ  is  distorted,  the  other 
cannot  perforin  its  regular  functions. 

True  science  studies  and  introduces  into  the  conscience 
of  men  that  knowledge  which  by  the  men  of  a  certain 
time  and  society  is  considered  most  important.  But  art 
transfers  these  truths  from  the  sphere  of  knowledge  into 
the  sphere  of  feeling.  And  so,  if  the  path  on  which 
science  is  proceeding  is  false,  the  path  of  art  will  be 
equally  false.  Science  and  art  are  like  those  barges  with 
two  anchors,  so-called  machines,  which  used  to  navigate 
the  rivers.  Science,  like  those  boats  which  carry  the 
anchors  forward  and  moor  them,  prepares  the  motion 
whose  direction  is  given  by  religion ;  and  art,  like  the 
capstan  which  works  on  the  barge,  drawing  it  nearer  to 
the  anchor,  performs  the  motion  itself.  And  so  the  false 
activity  of  science  draws  after  it  a  similarly  false  activity 
of  art. 

Just  as  art  in  general  is  the  conveyance  of  all  kinds  of 
sensations,  while  by  art  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the 
word  we  mean  that  which  conveys  sensations  which  we 
consider  important,  so  science  in  general  is  a  conveyance 
of  every  kind  of  knowledge,  while  by  science  in  the 
narrower  sense  of  the  word  we  mean  only  that  which 
conveys  knowledge  that  is  recognized  by  us  to  be  im- 
portant. 

What  determines  for  people  the  degree  of  the  impor- 
tance, both  of  the  sensations  conveyed  by  art  and  of  the 
knowledge  conveyed  by  science,  is  the  religious  conscious- 
ness of  a  certain  time  and  society,  that  is,  the  common 
comprehension  by  the  men  of  that  time  and  society  as  to 
what  the  destination  of  their  lives  is. 

What  more  than  anything  else  cooperates  with  the 
accomplishment  of  this  destination  is  considered  the  chief 


334  WHAT    IS    ART? 

science  ;  what  cooperates  less,  is  less  important ;  what  does 
not  at  all  cooperate  with  the  accomplishment  of  the  desti- 
nation of  man's  life  is  not  studied  at  all,  or  if  it  is  studied 
at  all,  it  is  not  considered  to  be  a  science.  Thus  it  has 
always  been,  thus  it  ought  to  be  now,  because  such  is 
the  property  of  human  knowledge  and  of  human  life. 
But  the  science  of  the  higher  classes  of  our  time,  by  fail- 
ing to  recognize  any  religion  and  even  considering  every 
religion  nothing  but  a  superstition,  has  not  been  able  to 
accomplish  this. 

And  so  the  men  of  science  of  our  time  assert  that  they 
indifferently  study  everything,  but  as  there  is  too  much  of 
everything  (everything  is  the  infinite  number  of  objects) 
and  it  is  impossible  to  study  everything  indifferently,  this 
assertion  is  made  only  in  theory ;  in  reahty  they  do  not 
study  everything  and  by  no  means  all  indifferently,  but 
only  what,  on  the  one  hand,  is  most  important  and,  on 
the  other,  most  agreeable  to  those  men  who  busy  them- 
selves with  science.  What  is  most  important  of  all  to 
the  men  of  science,  who  belong  to  the  higher  classes,  is 
to  retain  the  order  under  which  these  classes  enjoy  their 
prerogatives ;  and  most  agreeable  is  that  which  gratifies 
idle  curiosity,  does  not  demand  great  mental  efforts,  and 
cannot  be  practically  applied. 

And  so  one  division  of  the  sciences,  which  includes 
philosophy  that  is  adapted  to  the  existing  order,  and  a 
similar  history  and  political  economy,  busies  itself  chiefly 
with  proving  that  the  existing  order  of  life  is  such  as  it 
ought  to  be,  such  as  has  originated  and  continues  to  exist 
according  to  unchangeable  laws,  which  are  not  subject  to 
the  human  will,  and  that,  therefore,  every  attempt  at 
violating  it  is  illegal  and  useless.  Another  division,  that 
of  experimental  science,  which  includes  mathematics, 
astronomy,  chemistry,  physics,  botany,  and  all  the  natu- 
ral sciences,  busies  itself  only  with  what  has  no  direct 
relation  to  human  life,  what  is  curious,  and  what  admits 


WHAT    IS    AKT  ?  335 

of  applications  convenient  to  the  life  of  the  higher  classes. 
For  the  justification  of  that  choice  of  subjects  of  study 
which  the  men  of  science  of  our  time  have  made  in  con- 
formity with  their  position,  they  have  invented,  precisely 
like  the  theory  of  art  for  art's  sake,  a  theory  of  science 
for  science's  sake. 

As  it  follows  from  the  theory  of  art  for  art's  sake  that 
occupation  with  all  those  subjects  which  please  us  is  art, 
so  it  follows  from  -the  theory  of  science  for  science's  sake 
that  the  study  of  subjects  which  interest  us  is  science. 

Thus  one  part  of  science,  instead  of  studying  how  men 
should  live  in  order  to  fulfil  their  destination,  proves  the 
legality  and  the  unchangeability  of  the  bad  and  false 
existing  order  of  life ;  and  another  part,  experimental 
science,  busies  itself  with  questions  of  simple  curiosity  or 
with  technical  improvements. 

The  first  division  of  the  sciences  is  harmful,  not  only 
in  that  it  confuses  the  concepts  of  men  and  gives  them 
false  solutions,  but  also  in  that  it  exists  and  occupies  a 
place  which  ought  to  be  occupied  by  true  science.  It  is 
harmful,  because  every  man,  to  take  up  the  study  of  the 
most  important  questions  of  life,  must,  before  solving 
them,  overthrow  those  structures  of  falsehood  in  every 
most  essential  question  of  life,  accumulated  through  ages 
and  supported  with  every  inventiveness  of  the  mind. 

The  second  division,  the  one  on  which  modern  science 
prides  itself  so  much  and  which  by  many  is  considered  to 
be  the  one  true  science,  is  harmful  in  that  it  distracts  the 
attention  of  men  from  actually  important  subjects  and 
leads  them  to  such  as  are  insignificant ;  besides,  it  is 
harmful  in  that,  with  the  false  order  of  things  which 
is  justified  and  supported  by  the  first  division  of  the 
sciences,  a  great  part  of  the  technical  acquisitions  of  this 
division  of  science  is  not  directed  toward  the  use,  but 
toward  the  harm  of  humanity. 

It  is  only  to  the  men  who  have  devoted  their  hves  to 


336  WHAT    IS    ART? 

this  study  that  it  seems  that  all  the  discoveries  which  are 
made  in  the  sphere  of  the  natural  sciences  are  very  im- 
portant and  useful  matters.  This  seems  so  to  them,  only 
because  they  do  not  look  about  themselves  and  do  not  see 
what  is  really  important.  They  need  only  tear  themselves 
away  from  that  psychological  microscope  under  which  they 
observe  the  subjects  of  their  study,  and  look  about  in  order 
to  see  how  insignificant  all  the  science  is  which  affords 
them  such  naive  pride,  —  I  do  not  speak  of  imaginary 
geometry,  the  spectrum  analysis  of  the  Milky  Way,  the 
form  of  the  atoms,  the  dimension  of  the  crania  of  the  men 
of  the  stone  period,  and  similar  trifles,  —  but  even  the 
science  of  the  micro-organisms,  X-rays,  and  so  forth,  in 
comparison  witli  that  knowledge  which  we  have  rejected 
and  have  turned  over  to  be  corrupted  by  professors  of 
theology,  jurisprudence,  political  economy,  the  science 
of  finances,  and  others.  We  need  only  look  about  in 
order  to  see  that  the  activity  wliich  is  proper  to  true 
science  is  not  the  study  of  what  has  accidentally  inter- 
ested us,  but  of  how  tha  human  life  is  to  be  arranged,  — 
those  questions  of  religion,  morality,  social  life,  without 
solving  which  all  our  knowledge  of  Nature  is  harmful  and 
insignificant. 

We  rejoice  very  much  and  pride  ourselves  on  this,  that 
our  science  gives  us  the  possibility  of  utilizing  the  energy 
of  the  waterfall  and  of  compelling  this  force  to  do  work 
in  factories,  or  that  we  have  cut  tunnels  through  moun- 
tains, and  so  forth.  But  the  trouble  is  that  we  do  not 
cause  this  force  of  the  waterfall  to  work  for  the  good  of 
humanity,  but  for  the  enrichment  of  capitalists,  who  pro- 
duce articles  of  luxury  or  instruments  for  the  destruction 
of  men.  The  same  dynamite  with  which  we  tear  down 
mountains  in  order  to  dig  tunnels  through  them  is  used 
by  us  in  war,  which  we  not  only  do  not  wish  to  re- 
nounce, but  even  consider  indispensable,  and  for  which 
we  prepare  ourselves  uninterruptedly. 


WHAT   IS   ART?  337 

Even  though  we  are  now  able  to  inoculate  preventive 
diphtheria,  with  the  aid  of  X-rays  to  find  a  needle  in  the 
body,  to  straighten  out  a  curved  spine,  to  cure  syphilis,  to 
perform  marvellous  operations,  and  so  forth,  we  should  not 
pride  ourselves  on  these  acquisitions,  supposing  them  to  be 
incontestable,  if  we  fully  understood  the  actual  significance 
of  true  science.  If  only  one-tenth  of  those  forces  which 
are  now  wasted  on  articles  of  mere  curiosity  and  practical 
application  were  spent  on  true  science,  which  establishes 
men's  lives,  the  greater  half  of  the  people  who  now  are 
sick  would  have  none  of  the  diseases  a  tiuy  part  of  which 
is  being  cured  in  clinics  and  hospitals ;  there  would  not 
be  brought  up  in  factories  antemic,  hunchbacked  children  ; 
there  would  not  be,  as  there  is  now,  a  mortality  of  fifty 
per  cent,  of  the  children ;  there  would  not  be  any  degen- 
eration of  whole  generations ;  there  would  be  no  prostitu- 
tion ;  there  would  be  no  syphilis ;  there  would  be  no 
slaughter  of  hundreds  of  thousands  at  war ;  there  would 
not  be  those  terrors  of  madness  and  suffering  which 
modern  science  now  considers  to  be  an  indispensable  con- 
dition of  human  life. 

We  have  so  distorted  the  concept  of  science  that  it 
seems  strange  to  the  men  of  our  time  to  hear  mentioned 
sciences  which  would  abolish  the  mortality  of  children, 
prostitution,  syphilis,  the  degeneration  of  whole  genera- 
tions, and  the  mass  murder  of  men.  It  seems  to  us  that 
science  is  science  only  when  a  man  in  the  laboratory 
pours  hquids  from  one  glass  into  another,  decomposes  a 
spectrum,  cuts  up  frogs  and  guinea-pigs,  in  a  peculiar 
scientific  jargon  spins  out  dim,  barely  comprehensible 
even  to  him,  theological,  philosophical,  liistorical,  jurid- 
ical, economical  laces  of  conventional  phrases,  the  purpose 
of  which  it  is  to  prove  that  what  is  ought  to  be. 

But  science,  true  science,  —  a  science  which  would 
really  command  the  respect  which  the  men  of  the  one, 
least  important  part  of  science  now  demand,  —  does  not 


338  WHAT    IS   ART? 

at  all  consist  in  this  ;  true  science  consists  in  finding  out 
what  we  should  believe,  and  what  not,  —  in  finding  out 
how  the  aggregate  life  of  men  ought  to  be  arranged,  and 
how  not :  how  to  regulate  the  sexual  relations,  how  to 
educate  the  children,  how  to  make  use  of  the  land,  how 
to  work  it  witliout  oppressing  other  men,  how  to  act 
toward  foreigners,  how  to  treat  animals,  and  many  other 
things  which  are  of  importance  in  the  life  of  men. 

Such  has  true  science  always  been,  and  such  it  ought 
to  be.  And  such  science  is  germinating  in  our  time ; 
but,  on  the  one  hand,  such  true  science  is  denied  and 
rejected  by  all  those  learned  men  who  defend  the  exist- 
ing order  of  things ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  considered  to 
be  an  empty,  unnecessary,  unscientific  science  by  those 
who  busy  themselves  with  the  experimental  sciences. 

There  have  appeared,  for  example,  works  and  sermons 
which  prove  the  obsoleteness  and  insipidity  of  the  relig- 
ious fanaticism,  the  necessity  for  establishing  a  rational 
religious  world  conception  in  conformity  with  the  times, 
and  many  theologians  are  busy  overthrowing  these  works 
and  ever  anew  sharpening  their  wits  for  the  support  and 
justification  of  long  outlived  superstitions.  Or  there 
appears  a  sermon  which  preaches  that  one  of  the  chief 
causes  of  the  calamities  of  the  masses  is  the  landlessness 
of  the  proletariat,  as  it  is  found  in  the  West.  One  would 
think  that  science,  true  science,  would  acclaim  such  a 
sermon  and  would  work  out  the  farther  deductions  from 
this  proposition.  But  the  science  of  our  time  does  not  do 
anything  of  the  kind ;  on  the  contrary,  political  economy 
proves  the  reverse,  namely,  that  the  ownership  of  land, 
like  any  other  ownership,  ought  more  and  more  to  be  con- 
centrated in  the  hands  of  a  small  number  of  landowners, 
as  is,  for  example,  asserted  by  the  modern  Marxists. 
Even  so,  it  would  seem,  it  is  the  business  of  true  science 
to  prove  the  irrationality  and  profitlessness  of  war,  of 
capital  punishment,  or  the  inhumanity  and  perniciousness 


WHAT   IS    ART?  339 

of  prostitution,  or  the  senselessness,  harm,  and  immorality 
of  the  use  of  narcotics  and  of  auimal  food,  or  the  irra- 
tionality, harmfulness,  and  obsoleteness  of  the  patriotic 
fanaticism.  There  are  such  works,  but  they  are  all 
considered  unscientific.  Scientific  are  considered  those 
which  prove  that  all  these  phenomena  ought  to  be,  or 
those  which  busy  themselves  with  questions  of  idle  curi- 
osity, which  have  no  relation  to  human  life. 

Most  striking  is  the  deviation  of  the  science  of  our 
time  from  its  true  mission,  when  we  view  the  ideals 
which  some  men  of  science  set  up  for  themselves  and 
which  are  not  denied  and  are  acknowledged  by  the  ma- 
jority of  the  learned. 

These  ideals  are  not  only  expressed  in  foolish  fashion- 
able books,  which  describe  the  world  one  thousand  or 
three  thousand  years  hence,  but  also  by  sociologists  who 
consider  themselves  to  be  serious  scholars.  These  ideals 
consist  in  this,  that  the  food,  instead  of  being  obtained  by 
agriculture  and  cattle-raising  from  the  land,  will  be  pre- 
pared chemically  in  laboratories,  and  that  human  labour 
will  nearly  all  give  way  to  the  utilized  forces  of  Nature. 

A  man  will  not,  as  now,  eat  an  egg  laid  by  a  hen 
which  he  has  raised,  or  bread  which  has  grown  in  his 
field,  or  an  apple  from  a  tree  which  he  has  for  years  cared 
for  and  which  has  blossomed  and  matured  in  his  sight ; 
he  will  eat  savoury,  nourishing  food  which  will  be  pre- 
pared in  laboratories  by  the  combined  labours  of  many 
men,  in  which  he  will  take  a  small  part. 

There  will  hardly  be  any  need  of  work,  so  that  all 
men  will  be  able  to  devote  themselves  to  that  very  idle- 
ness to  which  the  highest,  ruling  classes  abandon  them- 
selves now. 

Nothing  shows  more  obviously  than  these  ideals  to 
what  extent  the  science  of  our  time  has  departed  from 
its  true  path. 

The  men  of  our  time,  an  enormous  majority  of  men. 


340  WHAT    IS    ART? 

have  no  good  or  sufficient  nourishment  (precisely  the 
sarue  refers  to  tlie  habitation,  the  attii-e,  and  all  the  prime 
necessities).  Besides,  this  same  enormous  majority  of 
men  is  compelled  without  cessation  to  work  above  its 
strength  at  the  cost  of  its  well-being.  And  either  calam- 
ity is  very  easily  set  aside  by  the  abolition  of  the  mutual 
struggle  with  luxury,  with  the  irregular  distribution  of 
wealth,  in  general,  by  the  abolition  of  the  false,  harmful 
order  of  things  and  the  establishment  of  the  rational  life 
of  men.  But  science  takes  the  existing  order  of  things  to 
be  as  variable  as  the  motion  of  the  luminaries,  and  con- 
siders that,  therefore,  the  problem  of  science  is  not  the 
elucidation  of  the  falseness  of  this  order  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  new  rational  order  of  life,  but  how  under 
the  existing  order  to  feed  all  men  and  give  them  a  chance 
to  be  as  idle  as  are  now  the  ruling  classes  of  those  who 
live  a  debauched  life. 

With  this  they  forget  that  feeding  on  bread,  vegetables, 
fruit,  raised  by  one's  own  labour  on  the  land,  is  an  exceed- 
ingly agreeable  and  wholesome,  easy  and  natural  manner 
of  alimentation,  and  that  the  work  of  exercising  one's 
muscles  is  just  as  indispensable  a  condition  of  life  as 
the  oxidation  of  the  blood  by  means  of  breathing. 

To  invent  means  for  people,  with  that  false  distribution 
of  property  and  labour,  to  be  able  to  feed  well  on  chemi- 
cally prepared  foods  and  at  the  same  time  to  compel  the 
forces  of  Nature  to  work  for  them,  is  the  same  as  invent- 
ing means  for  pumping  oxygen  into  the  lungs  of  a  man 
who  is  in  a  closed  apartment  with  foul  air,  when  all  that 
is  necessary  is  not  to  keep  this  man  in  the  closed  apart- 
ment. 

The  laboratory  for  the  production  of  food  is  established 
in  the  world  of  plants  and  animals,  and  is  such  that  no 
professors  will  ever  build  any  better  ones,  and  in  order  to 
enjoy  the  fruits  of  this  laboratory  and  to  take  part  in  it, 
a  man  has  only  to  abandon  himself  to  the  ever  joyous 


WHAT   IS   ART  ?  341 

necessity  of  labour,  without  which  life  is  agonizing.  And 
now  the  men  of  science  of  our  century,  instead  of  using 
all  their  forces  for  the  removal  of  everything  wliich  keeps 
man  from  utilizing  these  benefactions  which  are  estab- 
lished for  him,  recognize  the  condition  in  which  man  is 
deprived  of  these  benefactions  as  invariable,  and,  instead 
of  arranging  the  lives  of  men  in  such  a  way  that  they  may 
work  with  joy  and  live  on  the  products  of  the  earth,  they 
invent  means  for  making  artificial  monstrosities  of  them. 
It  is  the  same  as  though,  instead  of  bringing  a  man  out 
from  confinement  into  the  fresh  air,  they  were  to  invent 
means  for  pumping  into  liim  as  much  oxygen  as  possible, 
and  make  it  possible  for  him  to  live  in  a  close  basement, 
instead  of  hving  in  a  house. 

There  could  not  exist  such  false  ideals,  if  science  were 
not  following  a  false  path. 

And  yet  the  sensations  which  are  conveyed  by  art  are 
conceived  on  the  basis  of  the  data  of  science. 

What  sensations  can  such  a  science,  which  is  following 
a  false  path,  evoke  ?  One  division  of  this  science  evokes 
obsolete  sensations,  which  humanity  has  outhved,  and 
wliich  are  bad  and  exclusive  for  our  time.  The  other 
division,  which  busies  itself  with  subjects  that  have  no 
relation  to  human  life,  can  by  its  very  essence  not  serve 
as  a  foundation  for  art. 

Thus  the  art  of  our  time,  to  be  art,  must  itself,  in  spite 
of  science,  lay  out  a  path  for  itself,  or  make  use  of  indica- 
tions by  the  unsanctioned  science  which  is  denied  by  the 
orthodox  part  of  science.  It  is  precisely  this  that  art 
does,  when  it  even  partially  performs  its  mission. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  work  which  I  have  attempted 
concerning  art,  will  also  be  done  in  respect  to  science  ;  that 
the  incorrectness  of  the  theory  of  science  for  science's  sake 
will  be  indicated  to  men  ;  that  the  necessity  of  recognizing 
the  Christian  teaching  in  its  true  significance  will  be  clearly 
judioated ;  and  that  on  the  basis  of  this  teaching  a  new 


342  WHAT   IS    ART? 

valuation  will  be  made  of  the  science  which  we  possess 
and  on  which  we  pride  ourselves ;  that  the  secondary  im- 
portance and  insignificance  of  the  experimental  sciences, 
and  the  prime  importance  and  significance  of  the  reUgious, 
moral,  and  social  sciences  will  be  shown,  and  that  these 
sciences  will  not,  as  at  present,  be  left  to  the  guidance  of 
the  higher  classes  alone,  but  will  form  the  chief  object 
of  all  those  free  and  truth-loving  men  who,  not  always  at 
one  w^th  the  higher  classes,  but  diametrically  opposed  to 
them,  have  promoted  the  true  science  of  life. 

But  the  mathematical,  astronomic,  physical,  chemical, 
and  biological  sciences,  just  hke  the  technical  and  medical 
sciences,  will  be  studied  ouly  in  that  proportion  in  which 
they  contribute  to  the  liberation  of  men  from  religious, 
juridical,  and  social  deceptions,  or  will  serve  for  the  good 
of  all  men,  and  not  of  one  class. 

Only  then  will  science  cease  to  be  what  it  is  now,  — 
on  the  one  hand,  a  system  of  sophisms,  necessary  for  the 
support  of  the  obsolete  order  of  life,  on  the  other,  a  form- 
less heap  of  all  kinds  of  sciences,  for  the  most  part  httle  or 
not  at  all  necessary,  —  and  be  a  harmonious  organic  whole, 
which  has  a  definite,  comprehensible  and  rational  destina- 
tion, which  is,  to  introduce  into  the  consciousness  of  men 
those  truths  which  result  from  the  religious  consciousness 
of  our  time. 

Only  then  will  art,  which  is  always  dependent  on 
science,  be  what  it  can  and  should  be,  —  just  as  important 
an  organ  of  life  and  of  the  progress  of  humanity  as  is  science. 

Art  is  not  an  enjoyment,  a  diversion ;  art  is  a  great 
thing.  Art  is  an  organ  of  the  life  of  humanity,  which 
transfers  the  rational  consciousness  of  men  into  feeling. 
In  our  time  the  common  religious  consciousness  of  men  is 
the  recognition  of  the  brotherhood  of  men  and  of  their 
good  in  their  mutual  union.  True  art  must  indicate  the 
different  manners  of  applying  this  consciousness  to  life. 
Art  must  transfer  this  consciousness  into  feeling. 


WHAT    IS    ART?  343 

The  problem  of  art  is  enormous ;  true  art,  which  by 
means  of  science  is  guided  by  religion,  ought  to  have  this 
effect,  that  the  peaceable  cohabitation  of  men,  which  now 
is  sustained  by  external  means,  by  courts,  the  police,  chari- 
table institutions,  inspection  of  labour,  and  so  forth,  might 
be  attained  through  the  free  and  joyous  activity  of  men. 
Art  should  remove  violence. 

And  it  is  only  art  which  can  do  it. 

Everything  which  now,  independently  of  the  terror  of 
violence  and  punishment,  makes  possible  the  common  life 
of  men  (and  in  our  time  a  very  large  portion  of  the  order 
of  hfe  is  already  based  upon  it),  has  been  accomplished  by 
art.  If  art  has  transmitted  the  custom  of  treating  religious 
subjects  in  this  way,  and  parents,  children,  wives,  relatives, 
strangers,  foreigners,  elders,  superiors,  sufferers,  enemies, 
animals,  —  and  this  custom  has  been  observed  by  genera- 
tions of  millions  of  men,  not  only  without  the  least  sign 
of  violence,  but  also  in  such  a  way  that  it  cannot  in  any 
way  be  shaken,  except  by  art,  —  then  the  same  art  may  be 
able  to  evoke  other  customs,  which  are  more  in  keeping 
with  the  religious  consciousness  of  our  time.  If  art  could 
transmit  to  us  the  sentiment  of  awe  before  an  image  before 
communion,  before  the  person  of  the  king,  shame  before 
treason  to  friendship,  loyalty  to  the  flag,  the  necessity  of 
vengeance  for  an  offence,  the  demand  for  the  sacrifice 
of  one's  labours  for  the  erection  and  adornment  of  tem- 
ples, the  obligation  of  defending  one's  honour  or  the  glory 
of  one's  country,  —  the  same  art  is  able  to  evoke  a  feel- 
ing of  awe  before  the  dignity  of  every  man,  before  the 
hfe  of  every  animal,  shame  in  the  presence  of  luxury, 
of  violence,  of  vengeance,  of  the  use  for  one's  pleasure  of 
such  articles  as  are  indispensable  to  other  men ;  it  is  able 
to  make  people  freely  and  joyously,  without  noticing  it, 
sacrifice  themselves  for  the  service  of  men. 

Art  must  effect  this,  that  the  sentiments  of  the  brother- 
hood and  the  love  of  one's  neighbour,  which  now  are  ac- 


344  WHAT    IS    ART? 

cessible  only  to  the  best  men  of  society,  should  become 
habitual  sentiments,  instiucts  of  all  men.  Evoking  in 
men,  under  imaginary  conditions,  sentiments  of  brother- 
hood and  love,  religious  art  will  teach  people  in  reality, 
under  the  same  conditions,  to  experience  the  same  senti- 
ments, to  lay  in  the  souls  of  men  those  rails  on  which 
naturally  will  proceed  the  acts  of  the  lives  of  men  who 
are  educated  by  that  art.  By  uniting  all  the  most  varied 
men  in  one  feeliug  and  destroying  the  disunion,  the  uni- 
versal art  will  educate  men  for  uniou,  and  will  show 
them,  not  through  reflectiou,  but  through  life  itself,  the 
joy  of  the  universal  union  outside  the  obstacles  placed  by 
life. 

The  mission  of  art  in  our  time  consists  in  transferring 
from  the  sphere  of  reason  into  the  sphere  of  feeling  the 
truth  that  the  good  of  men  is  in  their  union  among  them- 
selves, and  in  establishing  in  place  of  the  now  existing 
violence  that  kingdom  of  God,  that  is,  of  love,  which  to 
all  of  us  appears  as  the  highest  aim  of  the  life  of  human- 
ity. 

Maybe,  in  the  future,  science  will  open  up  to  art  other 
new,  higher  ideals,  and  art  will  realize  them ;  but  in  our 
time  the  mission  of  art  is  clear  and  definite.  The  problem 
of  Christian  art  is  the  realization  of  the  brotherly  union 
of  men. 


APPENDIX    I. 

l'accueil 

Si  tu  veux  que  ce  soir,  a  r&,tre  je  t'accueille 
Jette  d'abord  la  fleur,  qui  de  ta  main  s'eft'euille; 
Son  clier  parf um  ferait  nia  tristesse  trop  sombre ; 
Et  ne  regarde  pas  derriere  toi  vers  I'ombre, 
Cai"  je  te  veux,  ayaut  oubli6  la  foret 
Et  le  vent,  et  I'echo  et  ce  qui  parlerait 
Voix  a  ta  solitude  ou  pleui's  a  ton  silence  I 
Et  debout,  avec  ton  ombre  qui  te  devance, 
Et  hautaine  sur  mon  seuil,  et  pale,  et  v6nue 
Comnie  si  j'6tais  mort  ou  que  tu  fusses  nue ! 

—  Henri  de  Regnier  :  Les  jeux  rustiques  et  divins. 


Oiseau  bleu  couleur  du  temps." 


Sais-tu  I'oubli 
D'un  vain  doux  reve 
Oiseau  nioqueur 
De  la  foret  ? 
Le  jour  palit, 
La  imit  se  leva, 
Et  dans  mon  coeur 
L'onibre  a  pleur6; 
O,  chante  moi 
Ta  folle  gamme, 
Car  j'ai  dormi 
Ce  jour  durant; 
Le  lache  6moi 
Oil  flit  mon  Tune 
Sanglote  emmi 
Le  jour  mourant. 

—  Francis  Viel^ - 
345 


Sais-tu  le  chant 
De  sa  parole 
Et  de  sa  voix, 
Toi  qui  redis 
Dans  le  coucliant 
Ton  air  f rivole 
Comme  autrefois 
Sous  les  midis? 
O,  chante  alors 
La  m^lodie 
De  son  amour, 
]\Ion  fol  espoir, 
Parmi  les  ors 
Et  I'incendie 
Du  vain  doux  jour. 
Qui  meurt  ce  soir. 
Griffin  :  Polmes  et  Poesies. 


346  APPENDIX 


IX. 


]6none,  j'avais  cru  qu'en  aimant  ta  beauts 

Oil  Fame  avec  le  corps  trouvent  leur  iinit^, 

J'allais  m'affermissant  et  le  coem-  et  I'esprit, 

Monter  jusqu'a  cela,  qui  jamais  ne  p6rit, 

N'ayant  6t6  cr66,  qui  n'est  froidure  ou  feu, 

Qui  n'est  beau  quelque  part  et  laid  en  autre  lieu ; 

Et  me  flattais  encore  d'une  belle  harmonie. 

Que  j'eusse  compost  du  meilleur  et  du  pire, 

Ainsi  que  le  chanteur  que  ch^rit  Polymuie, 

En  accordant  le  grave  avec  I'aigu,  retire 

Un  son  bien  61ev6  sur  les  nerfs  de  sa  lyre. 

Mais  nion  courage,  h^las !  se  pamant  comme  raort, 

M'enseigna  que  le  trait  qui  m'avait  fait  amant 

Ne  fut  pas  de  cet  arc  que  courbe  sans  effort 

La  V^nus  qui  naquit  du  male  seulement, 

Mais  que  j'avais  souffert  cette  V^nus  derniere 

Qui  a  le  coeur  couard,  n6  d'une  faible  mere. 

Et  pourtant,  ce  mauvais  garcon  chasseur  habile, 

Qui  charge  son  carquois  de  sagette  subtile, 

Qui  secoue  en  riant  sa  torche,  pour  un  jour. 

Qui  ne  pose  jamais  que  sur  de  tendres  fleurs, 

C'est  sur  un  teint  charmant  qu'il  essuie  les  pleurs, 

Et  c'est  encore  un  Dieu,  Enone,  cet  Amour. 

Mais,  laisse,  les  oiseaux  du  printemps  sont  partis, 

Et  je  vois  les  rayons  du  soleil  amortis. 

Enone,  ma  douleur,  harmonieux  visage, 

Superbe  humility,  doux-honngte  langage, 

Hier  me  remirant  dans  cet  ^tang  glac6 

Qui  au  bout  du  jardin  se  couvre  de  feuillage, 

Sur  ma  face  je  vis  que  les  jours  out  pass6. 

—  Jean  Mori^as  :  Le  Pe'lerin  Passions. 


XVI. 

BERCEUSE    d'OMBRE 

Des  formes,  des  formes,  des  formes 
Blanche,  bleue,  et  rose,  et  d'or 
Descendront  du  haiit  des  ormes 
Sur  I'enfant  qui  se  rendort. 
Des  formes  I 


APPENDIX  347 


Des  plumes,  des  plumes,  des  plumes 
Pour  composei'  un  doux  nid. 
Midi  Sonne  :  les  enclumes 
Cessent;  la  rumeur  fiiiit.  .  .  . 
Des  plumes  1 

Des  roses,  des  roses,  des  roses 

Pour  embaumer  son  sommeil 
Vos  p^tales  sont  raoroses 
Pres  du  sourire  vermeil. 
O  roses ! 

Des  ailes,  des  ailes,  des  ailes 

Pour  bourdonner  a  son  front. 
Abeilles  et  demoiselles, 
Des  rythmes  qui  berceront. 
Des  ailes  ! 

Des  branches,  des  branches,  des  branches 
Pour  tresser  un  pavilion 
Par  ou  des  clart6s  moins  franches 
Descendront  sur  I'oisillon. 
Des  branches ! 

Des  songes,  des  songes,  des  songes. 
Dans  ses  pensers  entr'ouverts 
Glissez  un  peu  de  mensonges 
A  voir  la  vie  au  tr avers. 
Des  songes  \ 

Des  f^es,  des  f^es,  des  f^es 

Pour  filer  lem-s  ^cheveaux 
De  mirages,  de  bouff^es 
Dans  tous  ces  petits  cerveaux. 
Des  f 6es  I 

Des  anges,  des  anges,  des  anges 
Pour  emporter  dans  I'^ther 
Les  petits  enfants  ^tranges 
Qui  ne  veulent  pas  rester 

Non  anges.  .  .  . 


APPENDIX    II. 

Here  are  the  contents  of  the  Ring  of  the  NibeliLng. 

In  the  first  part  we  are  told  that  the  nymphs,  the 
daughters  of  the  Ehiue,  are  for  some  reason  guarding 
some  kind  of  gold  in  the  Ehine,  and  singing,  "  Weia 
Waga,  Woge  du  Welle,  Welle  zur  Wiege,  Wage  zur 
Wiege,  Wage  la  Weia,  Wala  la  Weele,  Weia,"  and  so 
forth.  The  nymphs  who  are  singing  in  this  manner 
are  persecuted  by  the  dwarf  Nibelung,  who  wants  to  get 
possession  of  them.  The  dwarf  is  unable  to  catch  even 
one  of  them.  Then  the  nymphs  who  are  guarding  the 
gold  tell  the  dwarf  what  they  ought  to  conceal,  namely, 
that  he  who  declines  the  love  can  steal  the  gold  which 
they  are  guarding.  And  the  dwarf  dechues  their  love 
and  seizes  the  gold.     This  is  the  first  scene. 

In  the  second  scene,  in  a  field,  in  the  sight  of  a  city,  lie 
a  god  and  a  goddess  ;  then  they  awake  and  admire  the  city 
which  giants  have  built  for  them,  and  they  discuss  about 
giving  Goddess  Freia  to  the  giants  for  their  work.  The 
giants  come  to  get  their  pay;  but  God  Wotan  does  not 
want  to  give  up  Goddess  Freia.  The  giants  are  angry. 
The  gods  learn  that  the  dwarf  has  stolen  the  gold,  and 
they  promise  to  take  this  gold  back  and  to  give  it  to  the 
giants  for  their  work.  But  the  giants  do  not  believe 
them  and  seize  Goddess  Freia,  whom  they  hold  as  a 
pledge. 

The  third  scene  takes  place  underground.  Dwarf 
Alberich,  who  has  stolen  the  gold,  for  some  reason  beats 

348 


APPENDIX  349 

the  dwarf  Mime  and  takes  away  his  helmet,  which  has 
the  property  of  making  man  invisible  and  changing  him 
into  other  beings.  There  arrive  the  gods,  Wotan  and 
others,  and  they  scold  one  another  and  the  dwarfs ;  they 
want  to  take  away  tlie  gold,  but  Alberich  does  not  give  it 
to  them,  and,  as  all  of  them  are  doing  all  the  time,  acts  in 
such  a  way  as  to  bring  ruin  on  himself :  he  puts  on  the 
helmet,  and  is  changed  into  a  dragon,  and  later  into  a 
frog.  The  gods  catch  the  frog,  take  the  helmet  down 
from  it,  and  carry  Alberich  off  with  them. 

The  fourth  scene  consists  in  this,  that  the  gods  have 
Alberich  brought  in,  ordering  him  to  command  his  dwarfs 
to  bring  all  the  gold  to  them.  The  dwarfs  bring  it.  Al- 
berich gives  up  all  the  gold,  but  keeps  for  himself  a  magic 
ring.  The  gods  take  the  ring  away,  too.  For  this  Albe- 
rich curses  the  ring  and  says  that  it  will  bring  misfortune 
to  all  who  shall  own  it.  There  amve  the  giants,  bringing 
with  them  Goddess  Freia  and  demanding  a  ransom. 
Stakes,  of  the  size  of  Freia's  stature,  are  put  up  and 
covered  with  gold,  —  that  is  the  ransom.  There  is  not 
enough  gold ;  the  helmet  is  thrown  on  the  heap ;  the 
ring  is  demanded.  Wotan  does  not  give  it,  but  there 
appears  Goddess  Erda,  who  commands  that  the  ring  be 
given  up,  because  misfortune  comes  from  it.  Wotan  gives 
it.  Freia  is  liberated,  but  the  giants,  having  received  the 
ring,  quarrel,  and  one  of  them  kills  another.  This  is 
the  end  of  the  Vorspiel,  —  there  begins  the  first  day. 

A  tree  is  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  stage.  Siegmund 
comes  running  in ;  he  is  tired,  and  he  lies  down.  Enter 
Sieglinde,  the  hostess,  Hundiug's  wife ;  she  gives  him  a 
love-potion,  and  they  fall  in  love  with  one  another. 
Enter  Sieglinde's  husband ;  he  learns  that  Siegmund  be- 
longs to  an  unfriendly  race,  and  intends  to  fight  him  the 
next  day  ;  but  Sieglinde  gives  her  husband  an  intoxicating 
potion  and  goes  to  Siegmund.  Siegmund  learns  that 
Sieglinde  is  his  sister  and  that  his  father  struck  a  sword 


350  APPENDIX 

into  a  tree,  so  that  no  one  is  able  to  take  it  out.  Sieg- 
mund  pulls  out  the  sword  and  commits  incest  with  his 
sister. 

In  the  second  action  Siegmund  is  to  fight  with  Hun- 
ding.  The  gods  discuss  to  whom  to  give  the  victory. 
Wotan  wants  to  take  care  of  Siegmund,  approving  of  the 
act  of  incest  with  his  sister,  but,  under  the  influence  of 
his  wife  Fricka,  he  orders  the  Valkyrie  Brlinnhilde  to  kill 
Siegmund.  Siegmund  proceeds  to  fight.  Sieghnde  faints. 
Briiuuhilde  arrives ;  she  wants  to  starve  him ;  Siegmund 
wants  to  kill  Sieglinde,  but  Brlinnhilde  commands  him  not 
to  do  so,  and  he  fights  with  Hunding.  Brlinnhilde  defends 
Siegmund,  but  Wotan  defends  Hunding,  and  Siegmund's 
sword  is  broken  and  Siegmund  is  killed.  Sieglinde  runs 
away. 

Third  act.  The  Valkyries  on  the  stage.  They  are 
heroines.  Valkyrie  Brlinnhilde  on  horseback  arrives  with 
Siegmund.  She  runs  away  from  Wotan,  who  is  angry 
with  her  on  account  of  her  disobedience.  Wotan  catches 
up  with  her  and  to  punish  her  for  her  disobedience  dis- 
charges her  from  her  Valkyrie-ship.  He  puts  a  charm 
on  her,  so  that  she  has  to  fall  asleep  and  remain  asleep 
until  a  man  wakes  her.  When  she  is  on  the  point  of 
waking,  she  will  fall  in  love  with  a  man.  Wotan  kisses 
her,  and  she  falls  asleep.  He  discharges  fire,  and  the  fire 
surrounds  her. 

The  contents  of  the  second  day  consist  in  this,  that  the 
dwarf  Mime  is  forging  a  sword  in  the  forest.  Enter 
Siegfried.  He  is  the  son  who  was  born  from  the  incest 
of  the  brother  Siegmund  and  the  sister  Sieglinde,  and  who 
was  brought  up  in  the  forest  by  a  dwarf.  Siegfried  learns 
of  his  origin  and  that  the  broken  sword  is  his  father's 
sword,  and  orders  Mime  to  forge  it,  and  himself  goes 
away.  Enter  Wotan  in  the  form  of  a  pilgrim ;  he  says 
that  he  who  has  not  learned  to  be  afraid  will  forge  a 
sword  and  will  conquer  all.     The  dwarf  guesses  that  this 


APPENDIX  351 

is  Siegfried,  and  wants  to  poison  him.  Siegfried  returns, 
forges  his  father's  sword,  and  runs  away. 

The  second  action  of  the  second  act  consists  in  this, 
that  Alberich  sits  and  watches  the  giant,  who,  in  the  form 
of  a  dragon,  watches  the  gold  which  he  has  received. 
Enter  Wotan,  who  for  some  unkuowa  reason  tells  that 
Siegfried  will  come  and  will  kill  the  dragon.  Alberich 
wakes  the  dragon  and  asks  the  ring  of  him,  promising  for 
this  to  defend  him  against  Siegfried.  The  dragon  does 
not  give  up  the  ring.  Exit  Alberich.  Enter  Mime  and 
Siegfried.  Mime  hopes  that  the  dragon  will  teach  Sieg- 
fried fear ;  but  Siegfried  is  not  afraid,  drives  away  Mime, 
and  kills  the  dragon  ;  after  that  he  puts  to  his  lips  his 
linger,  un  which  is  the  blood  of  the  dragon,  and  from  this 
he  learns  the  secret  thoughts  of  men  and  the  language  of 
the  birds.  The  birds  tell  him  where  the  treasure  and  the 
ring  are,  and  that  Mime  wants  to  kill  him.  Enter 
Mime,  who  says  aloud  that  he  wants  to  poison  Siegfried. 
These  words  are  to  mean  that  Siegfried,  having  tasted  the 
dragon's  blood,  understands  the  secret  thoughts  of  men. 
Siegfiied  finds  out  his  thoughts,  and  kills  him.  The  birds 
tell  him  where  Briinnhilde  is,  and  Siegfried  goes  to  her. 

In  the  third  act  Wotan  sends  for  Erda.  Erda  prophe- 
sies to  Wotan,  and  gives  him  advice.  Enter  Siegfried, 
who  exchanges  words  with  Wotan  and  fights.  Suddenly 
it  appears  that  Siegfried's  sword  breaks  that  spear  of 
Wotan,  which  was  more  powerful  than  anything.  Sieg- 
fried goes  into  the  fire  where  Briinnhilde  is ;  he  kisses 
Briinnhilde ;  she  awakens,  bids  farewell  to  her  divinity, 
and  throws  herself  into  Siegfried's  embrace. 

Third  day. 

Three  Nomas  are  weaving  a  golden  rope  and  talking  of 
the  future.  The  Nomas  go  away,  —  and  there  appears 
Siegfried  with  Briinnhilde.  Siegfried  bids  her  good-bye, 
gives  her  the  ring,  and  goes  away. 

First  act.     On  the  Khine  a  king  wants  to  get  married 


352  APPENDIX 

and  to  get  his  sister  married.  Hagen,  the  king's  bad 
brother,  advises  him  to  take  Brlinnhilde,  and  to  marry  his 
sister  off  to  Siegfried.  Siegfried  makes  his  appearance. 
He  is  given  a  love-potion,  as  a  result  of  which  he  forgets 
the  whole  past,  and  falls  in  love  with  Guthrun  and  travels 
with  Gunther  to  get  Brlinnhilde  for  him  as  a  wife.  Change 
of  scenery.  Briinnhilde  is  sitting  with  the  ring ;  a  Valkyrie 
comes  to  her ;  she  tells  how  Wotan's  spear  was  broken, 
and  advises  her  to  give  the  ring  to  the  nymphs  of 
the  Ehine.  Enter  Siegfried,  who  by  means  of  the  magic 
helmet  is  changed  into  Gunther ;  he  demands  the  ring 
from  Briinnhilde,  tears  it  away  from  her,  and  drags  her 
along  to  sleep  with  him. 

.  Second  act.  On  the  Rhine  Alberich  and  Hagen  dis- 
cuss how  to  obtain  the  ring.  Enter  Siegfried  ;  he  tells  of 
how  he  obtained  a  wife  for  Gunther  and  of  how  he  had 
slept  with  her,  but  had  placed  his  sword  between  them. 
Briinnhilde  arrives  ;  she  recognizes  the  ring  on  Siegfried's 
hand,  and  accuses  him  of  having  been  with  her,  instead  of 
Gunther.  Hagen  provokes  everybody  against  Siegfried, 
and  decides  that  he  will  kill  him  the  next  day  at  the 
hunt. 

Third  act.  Again  the  nymphs  in  the  Pthine  tell  every- 
thing that  has  been  ;  enter  Siegfried,  who  has  lost  his  way. 
The  nymphs  ask  the  ring  of  him,  but  he  does  not  give  it. 
Enter  hunters.  Siegfried  tells  his  story.  Hagen  gives 
him  a  drink,  as  a  result  of  which  his  memory  returns  to 
him ;  he  tells  how  he  awoke  and  obtained  Briinnhilde,  and 
all  are  surprised.  Hagen  strikes  Siegfried  in  the  back 
and  kills  him,  and  the  scenery  is  changed.  Guthrun 
meets  Siegfried's  body  ;  Gunther  and  Hagen  quarrel  about 
the  ring,  and  Hagen  kills  Gunther.  Brlinnhilde  weeps. 
Hagen  wants  to  take  the  ring  off  Siegfried's  finger,  but 
the  hand  raises  itself  ;  Briinnhilde  takes  the  ring  off  Sieg- 
fried's hand  and,  as  Siegfried's  body  is  being  carried  to  the 
funeral  pyre,  she  mounts  her  horse  and  rushes  into  the 


APPENDIX  353 

pyre.  The  Ehine  rises  and  comes  to  the  pyre.  In  the  river 
are  three  nymphs.  Hagen  rushes  into  the  fire,  in  order  to 
fetch  the  ring,  but  the  nymphs  seize  him  and  draw  him 
along.     One  of  them  holds  the  ring. 

The  production  is  finished. 

The  impression  which  one  gets  from  my  story  is  natu- 
rally not  complete.  But,  no  matter  how  incomplete  it  is, 
it  is  certainly  incomparably  more  advantageous  than  the 
one  which  is  received  from  the  reading  of  the  four  books 
in  which  it  is  printed. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

1897 


FROM  A  LETTER  TO  THE  RUSSIAN 

EDITOR 

Of  course,  I  consider  this  writing  incomplete,  and  far 
from  satisfying  those  demands  which  I  myself  would 
have  made  on  it  twenty  years  ago.  But  now  I  know 
that  I  shall  not  have  the  time  to  finish  it,  to  bring  it  to 
a  desired  degree  of  lucidity ;  at  the  same  time  I  think 
that  even  in  this  form  there  will  be  found  something 
which  will  be  of  use  to  men,  and  so  print  and  edit  it  as 
it  is.  God  willing,  and  if  I  shall  be  free  from  other 
work  and  shall  have  the  strength  for  it,  I  shall  return  to 
this  writing  and  shall  try  to  make  it  simpler,  clearer,  and 
briefer.  Lev  Tolstoy. 

September  2, 1897. 


INTRODUCTION 

I  LIVED  to  my  fiftieth  year,  thinking  that  the  life  of 
man  which  passes  from  birth  to  death  is  all  his  life,  and 
that,  therefore,  man's  aim  is  happiness  in  this  mortal  life, 
and  I  tried  to  receive  this  happiness ;  but  the  longer  I 
lived,  the  more  obvious  did  it  become  to  me  that  there  is 
no  such  happiness,  and  that  there  can  be  none.  The 
happiness  which  I  was  looking  for  did  not  come  to  me, 
and  the  one  which  I  attained  immediately  stopped  bemg 
happiness.  At  the  same  time  my  misfortunes  grew  more 
and  more,  and  the  iuevitableuess  of  death  became  more  and 
more  obvious,  aud  I  understood  that  after  this  senseless 
and  unhappy  life  nothing  was  awaiting  me  but  suffering, 
diseases,  old  age,  aud  annihilation ;  I  asked  myself  what 
this  was  for,  and  I  received  no  answer.  And  I  arrived  at 
despair. 

What  some  people  told  me  aud  what  I  at  times  tried 
to  convince  myself  of,  that  it  was  necessary  to  wish  hap- 
piness not  to  oneself  alone,  but  also  to  others,  to  friends, 
and  to  all  men,  did  not  satisfy  me,  in  the  first  place, 
because  I  could  not  as  sincerely  desire  happiness  for  other 
men  as  for  myself,  and,  in  the  second  place,  and  chiefly, 
because  other  men  were  like  myself  doomed  to  unhappi- 
ness  and  death.  And  so  all  my  sufferings  about  their 
good  were  in  vain. 

I  began  to  despair.  But  I  thought  that  my  despair 
might  be  due  to  the  fact  that  I  was  a  peculiar  man,  and 
that  other  men  knew  why  they  lived  and  so  did  not 
arrive  at  despair. 

And  I   began   to   observe  other  people,  but  the  other 

359 


o 


360  INTRODUCTION 

people  knew  as  little  as  I  why  they  were  hving.  Some 
tried  to  drown  this  ignorance  in  the  bustle  of  life ;  others 
persuaded  themselves  and  others  that  they  believed  in 
different  rehgious,  which  were  impressed  upon  them 
in  childhood ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  beheve  in 
what  they  beheved,  it  was  so  stupid ;  and  many  of  them, 
it  seemed  to  me,  only  pretended  that  they  believed, 
whereas  in  the  depth  of  their  hearts  they  did  not  believe. 

I  was  no  longer  able  to  continue  bustling  about:  no 
amount  of  bustling  concealed  the  question  which  con- 
stantly stood  before  me,  and  I  could  not  begin  anew  to 
believe  in  the  faith  which  1  had  been  taught  in  my  child- 
hood and  which,  when  I  grew  strong  in  mind,  fell  off  me 
by  itself.  But  the  more  I  studied,  the  more  did  I  con- 
vince myself  that  there  could  be  no  truth  in  it,  that  there 
was  here  nothing  but  hypocrisy  and  the  selfish  views  of 
deceivers,  and  the  weak-mindedness,  stubbornness,  and 
terror  of  the  deceived. 

To  say  nothing  of  the  inner  contradictions  of  this  teach- 
ing, of  its  baseness  and  cruelty  in  recognizing  God  as 
punishing  men  with  eternal  torments,^  the  chief  thing 
which  did  not  permit  me  to  believe  in  this  teaching  was 
this,  that  I  knew  that  side  by  side  with  this  Orthodox 
Christian  teaching,  which  asserted  that  it  alone  had  the 
truth,  there  was  another,  a  Catholic  Christian,  a  third,  a 
Lutheran,  a  fourth,  a  Eeformed  teaching,  —  and  all  other 
kinds  of  Christian  teachings,  —  each  of  which  asserted  in 
regard  to  itself  that  it  alone  possessed  the  truth ;  I  knew 
also  this,  that  side  by  side  with  these  Christian  teachings 
there  existed  also  non-Christian  religious  teachings, — 
Buddhism,  Brahmanism,  Mohammedanism,  Confucianism, 
and  others,  —  which  similarly  considered  themselves  alone 
in  the  truth  and  all  other  teachings  in  error. 

1  All  these  contradictions,  insipidities,  and  cruelties  I  expounded 
in  detail  in  a  book,  Critique  of  Dogmatic  Theology,  in  whicli  all  the 
church  dogmas  of  Ortliodox  Theology  are  analyzed,  proposition  after 
proposition.  —  Authofs  Note. 


INTRODUCTION  361 

And  so  I  could  not  return  to  the  faith  in  which  I  had 
been  instructed  from  my  childhood,  nor  believe  in  any- 
one of  those  which  otlier  nations  professed,  because  in  all 
of  them  were  the  same  contradictions,  insipidities,  mir- 
acles, which  denied  all  other  faiths,  and,  above  all  else, 
the  same  deception  of  demanding  blind  faith  in  their 
teaching. 

Thus  I  became  convinced  that  in  the  existing  faiths  I 
should  not  find  a  solution  to  my  question  and  an  allevia- 
tion of  my  sufferings.  My  despair  was  such  that  I  was 
near  to  committing  suicide. 

But  here  I  found  salvation.  This  salvation  was  due  to 
this,  that  I  had  from  childhood  retained  the  idea  that  in 
the  Gospel  there  was  an  answer  to  my  question  In  this 
teaching,  in  the  Gospel,  in  spite  of  all  the  distortions  to 
which  it  has  been  subjected  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Chris- 
tian church,  I  felt  there  was  the  truth.  And  I  made  a 
last  effort :  rejecting  all  the  interpretations  of  the  Gospel 
teaching,  I  began  to  read  and  study  the  gospels,  and  to 
penetrate  their  meaning ;  and  the  more  1  penetrated  the 
meaning  of  this  book,  the  more  something  new  became 
clear  to  me,  something  which  did  not  at  all  resemble  that 
which  the  Christian  churches  teach,  but  which  answered 
the  question  of  my  life.  And  finally  the  answer  became 
quite  clear. 

Aud  this  answer  was  not  only  clear,  but  also  indubi- 
table, in  the  first  place,  in  that  it  completely  coincided 
with  the  demands  of  my  reason  aud  of  my  heart ;  in 
the  second,  in  that  when  I  understood  it,  I  saw  that  this 
answer  was  not  my  exclusive  interpretation  of  the  Gospel, 
as  might  seem,  and  not  even  the  exclusive  revelation  of 
Christ,  but  that  this  same  answer  to  the  question  of  life 
had  more  or  less  clearly  been  expressed  by  all  the  best 
men  of  humanity  before  and  after  the  Gospel,  beginning 
with  Moses,  Isaiah,  Confucius,  the  ancient  Greeks,  Buddha, 
Socrates,  and  ending  with  Pascal,  Spinoza,  Fichte,  Feuer- 


362  INTRODUCTION 

bach,  and  all  those  often  unnoticed  and  inglorious  men 
who  have  thought  and  talked  of  the  meaning  of  life  in  a 
sincere  manner,  without  taking  any  teachings  upon  faith. 
Thus,  in  the  knowledge  which  I  drew  from  the  truth  of 
the  gospels,  I  was  not  only  not  alone,  but  in  agreement 
with  all  the  best  men  of  the  past  and  the  present.  And 
I  became  firm  in  this  truth,  and  was  calmed  after  that, 
and  have  joyfully  lived  twenty  years  of  my  hfe,  and 
joyfully  approach  death. 

And  this  answer  to  the  meaning  of  my  life,  which 
gave  me  complete  peace  and  joy  of  life,  I  wish  to  com- 
municate to  men. 

By  my  age  and  the  condition  of  my  health  I  stand  with 
one  foot  in  the  grave,  and  so  human  considerations  have 
no  meaning  for  me,  and  if  they  had,  I  know  that  the  ex- 
position of  my  faith  not  only  will  not  contribute  to  my 
well-being,  nor  to  people's  good  opinion  of  me,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  can  only  agitate  and  embitter,  not  only  the  non- 
believers,  who  demand  of  me  literary  writings,  and  not 
discussions  of  faith,  but  also  the  believers  who  are  pro- 
voked by  all  my  religious  writings  and  scold  me  for  them. 
Besides,  in  all  probability  this  writing  will  become  known 
to  people  only  after  my  death.  And  so  I  am  not  incited 
by  personal  advantage  to  do  what  I  am  doing,  nor  by 
fame,  nor  by  worldly  considerations,  but  only  by  the  fear 
lest  I  may  not  fulfil  what  is  wanted  of  me  by  Him  who 
sent  me  into  this  world  and  to  whom  I  expect  to  return 
any  moment. 

And  so  I  beg  all  those  who  will  read  this,  to  read  and 
understand  my  writing,  by  rejecting  as  I  do  all  worldly 
considerations  and  having  in  view  nothing  but  the  eternal 
principle  of  truth  and  the  good,  by  the  will  of  which  we 
came  into  this  world  and  very  soon  will  disappear  as 
bodily  beings,  and  without  haste  or  irritation  to  under- 
stand and  discuss  what  I  am  giving  utterance  to,  and  in 
case  of  disagreement  to  correct  me,  not  with   contempt 


INTKODUCTION  363 

and  hatred,  but  with  sympathy  and  love ;  and  in  case  of 
a  disagreement  with  me  to  remember  that  if  I  speak  the 
truth,  this  truth  is  not  mine,  but  God's,  and  that  only 
fortuitously  a  part  of  it  is  passing  through  me,  just  as  it 
passes  through  every  one  of  us,  when  we  find  out  the 
truth  and  communicate  it  to  others. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 


PART  THE  FIRST 

THE   ANCIENT   RELIGIONS   AND   THE   NEW 
CONCEPT   OF   LIFE 

I.      THE   ANCIENT   RELIGIONS 

1.  At  all  times,  since  most  remote  antiquity,  people 
have  felt  the  wretchedness,  insecurity,  and  meaningless- 
ness  of  their  existence  and  have  tried  to  find  a  salvation 
from  this  wretchedness  in  the  belief  in  God  or  gods  who 
might  free  them  from  the  various  evils  of  this  life  and 
might  in  the  future  life  give  them  that  good  which  they 
wished  for,  and  could  not  receive  in  this  hfe. 

2.  And  so,  since  most  remote  antiquity  and  among  all 
the  nations,  there  have  existed  all  kinds  of  preachers  who 
taught  men  about  what  God  or  the  gods  were  who  could 
save  men,  and  about  what  ought  to  be  done  in  order  to 
please  this  God  or  these  gods  in  order  to  receive  a  reward 
in  this  or  in  the  future  life. 

3.  Some  religious  teachings  taught  that  this  God  is 
the  sun  and  is  personified  in  various  animals ;  others 
taught  that  the  gods  are  the  heaven  and  the  earth ; 
others  —  that  God  created  the  world  and  chose  one 
favourite  people  from  among  all  the  nations ;  others  — 
that  there  are  many  gods,  and  that  they  take  part  in  the 

365 


366  THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

affairs   of   men ;    others  —  that  God,  having  assumed  a 
human  form,  came  down  upon  earth. 

And  all  these  teachers,  mixing  truth  with  the  he, 
demanded  from  men,  not  only  the  desistance  from  acts 
which  were  considered  bad  and  the  performance  of  such 
as  were  considered  good,  but  also  sacraments,  and  sacri- 
fices, and  prayers,  which  more  than  anything  else  were  to 
guarantee  to  people  their  good  in  this  world  and  in  the 
world  to  come. 

II.      THE   INSUFFICIENCY   OF   THE   ANCIENT   RELIGIONS 

4.  But  the  longer  people  lived,  the  less  and  less  did 
these  religions  satisfy  the  souls  of  men. 

5.  Men  saw  that,  in  the  first  place,  happiness,  after 
which  they  were  striving,  was  not  attained  in  this  world, 
in  spite  of  satisfying  the  demands  of  God  or  of  the  gods. 

6.  In  the  second  place,  in  consequence  of  the  dissemina- 
tion of  enlightenment,  the  confidence  in  what  the  religious 
teachers  preached  about  God,  about  the  future  life,  and 
about  the  rewards  in  it,  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  since  it 
did  not  coincide  with  the  more  enlightened  conceptions 
of  the  world. 

7.  If  formerly  men  could  be  unhampered  in  their  belief 
that  God  created  the  world  six  thousand  years  ago,  that 
the  earth  is  the  centre  of  the  universe,  that  under  the 
earth  there  is  hell,  that  God  came  down  upon  earth  and 
then  flew  back  to  heaven,  and  so  forth,  they  can  no 
longer  believe  in  it,  because  they  know  for  sure  that  the 
world  has  existed,  not  six  thousand,  but  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  years,  that  the  earth  is  not  the  centre  of  the 
universe,  but  only  a  very  small  planet  in  comparison  with 
other  celestial  bodies,  and  thev  know  that  there  can  be 
nothing  under  the  earth,  since  the  earth  is  a  globe ;  they 
know  that  it  is  impossible  to  fly  to  heaven,  because  there 
is  no  heaven,  but  only  a  seeming  vault  of  heaven. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  o67 

8.  In  the  third  place,  and  chiefly,  the  confidence  in 
these  various  teachings  was  undermined  by  this,  that 
men,  entering  into  closer  interrelations,  learned  that  in 
every  country  the  religious  teachers  preach  their  par- 
ticular doctrine,  recognizing  their  own  as  true,  and  reject- 
ing all  the  others. 

And  men,  knowing  this,  naturally  drew  the  conclusion 
from  it  that  not  one  of  these  doctrines  is  more  true  than 
any  other,  and  that,  therefore,  none  of  them  can  be  ac- 
cepted as  an  undoubted  and  infallible  truth. 

III.      THE    NEED    FOR   A   NEW    RELIGION,    TO    CORRESPOND 
WITH  THE  DEGREE  OF  HUMANITY'S  ENLIGHTENMENT 

9.  The  unattainableness  of  happiness  in  this  world,  the 
progressing  enlightenment  of  humanity,  and  the  inter- 
course of  people  among  themselves,  in  consequence  of 
which  they  learned  of  the  religions  of  other  nations,  had 
this  effect,  that  the  confidence  of  people  in  the  religions 
transmitted  to  them  grew  weaker  and  weaker. 

10.  At  the  same  time,  the  need  of  explaining  the 
meaning  of  hfe  and  of  solving  the  contradiction  between 
the  striving  after  happiness  and  life  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  ever  growing  consciousness  of  the  inevitableness 
of  misery  and  death  on  the  other,  became  more  and 
more  insistent. 

11.  Man  wishes  the  good  for  himself,  sees  in  this  the 
meaning  of  his  hfe,  and,  the  longer  he  lives,  the  more  he 
sees  that  the  good  is  impossible  for  him ;  man  wishes  for 
life,  for  its  continuation,  and  sees  that  he  and  everything 
existing  around  him  are  doomed  to  inevitable  destruction 
and  disappearance  ;  man  possesses  reason  and  seeks  for  a 
rational  explanation  of  the  phenomena  of  life,  and  does 
not  find  any  rational  explanation  for  his  own  life  or  for 
that  of  another  being. 

12.  If  in  antiquity  the  consciousness  of  this  contradic- 


368  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

tion  between  human  life,  demanding  the  good  and  its  own 
continuation,  and  the  inevitableness  of  death  and  suffering 
was  accessible  to  the  best  minds  only,  such  as  Solomon, 
Buddha,  Socrates,  Lao-tse,  and  others,  this  has  of  late  be- 
come a  truth  which  is  accessible  to  all  men  ;  and  so  the 
solution  of  this  contradiction  has  become  more  necessary 
than  ever. 

13.  And  exactly  at  a  time  when  the  solution  of  the 
contradiction  between  the  striving  after  the  good  and  life 
and  the  consciousness  of  their  impossibility  became  ex- 
ceedingly vexing  and  necessary  for  humanity,  it  was  given 
to  men  through  the  Christian  teaching  in  its  true  signifi- 
cance. 

IV.  WHAT  THE  SOLUTION  OF  THE  CONTRADICTION  OF  LIFE 
AND  THE  EXPLANATION  OF  ITS  MEANING,  AS  GIVEN  BY 
THE  CHRISTIAN  EELIGIOUS  DOCTRINE  IN  ITS  TRUE 
SIGNIFICANCE,   CONSISTS    IN 

14.  The  ancient  religions  endeavoured,  with  their  assur- 
ances about  the  existence  of  God  the  creator,  the  provider, 
and  the  redeemer,  to  conceal  the  contradiction  of  the 
human  life  ;  but  the  Christian  teaching,  on  the  contrary, 
shows  men  this  contradiction  in  all  its  force ;  it  shows 
them  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  from  the  recognition  of  the 
contradiction  draws  the  solution  of  it.  The  contradiction 
consists  in  the  following : 

15.  Indeed,  on  the  one  hand  man  is  an  animal,  so  long 
as  he  lives  in  the  body,  and  on  the  other  he  is  a  spirit- 
ual being,  denying  all  the  animal  demands  of  man. 

16.  Man  lives  during  the  first  part  of  his  life  without 
knowing  that  he  lives,  so  that  it  is  not  he  who  lives,  but 
through  him  that  life  force  which  lives  in  everything  we 
know. 

17.  Man  begins  to  live  only  when  he  knows  that  he  is 
living ;  and  he  knows  that  he  is  living,  when  he  knows 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  369 

that  he  wishes  the  good  for  himself,  aud  that  the  other 
beings  wish  the  same.  This  knowledge  is  given  to  him 
by  his  awakened  reason. 

18.  When  he  learns  that  he  lives  and  wishes  the  good 
for  himself,  and  that  the  other  beings  wish  the  same,  he 
inevitably  learns  also  this,  that  the  good  which  he  wishes 
for  his  separate  being  is  inaccessible  to  him,  and  that 
instead  of  the  good  which  he  wishes  there  await  him 
inevitable  suffering  and  death.  The  same  await  all  the 
other  beings.  There  appears  the  contradiction,  for  which 
man  seeks  a  solution  with  which  his  life,  such  as  it 
is,  may  have  a  rational  meaning.  He  wants  life  to  con- 
tinue to  be  what  it  was  previous  to  the  awakening  of  his 
reason,  that  is,  completely  animal,  or  that  it  may  be 
entirely  spiritual. 

19.  Man  wants  to  be  an  animal  or  an  angel,  but  can  be 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

20.  Aud  here  appears  the  solution  of  the  contradiction, 
which  is  given  by  the  Christian  teaching.  It  tells  man 
that  he  is  neither  an  animal,  nor  an  angel,  but  an  angel 
born  of  an  animal,  —  a  spiritual  being  born  of  the  animal, 
—  and  that  our  sojourn  in  this  world  is  nothing  but 
this  birth. 

V.      WHAT   DOES   THE   BIRTH   OF   THE   SPIRITUAL   BEING 

CONSIST    IN  ? 

21.  The  moment  man  awakens  to  rational  conscious- 
ness, this  consciousness  tells  him  that  he  wishes  the  good  ; 
and  since  his  rational  consciousness  has  awakened  in  his 
separate  being,  it  seems  to  him  that  his  desire  for  the  good 
has  reference  to  his  separate  existence. 

22.  But  the  same  rational  consciousness,  which  shows 
him  to  himself  as  a  separate  being  wishing  his  good, 
sliows  him  also  that  this  separate  being  does  not  corre- 
spond to  that  desire  for  the  good  and  for  life  which  lie 


370  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

ascribes  to  it ;  he  sees  that  this  separate  being  can  have 
neither  the  good  nor  hfe. 

23.  "What,  then,  has  the  true  hfe?"  he  asks  himself, 
and  he  sees  that  neither  he  nor  the  beings  that  surround 
him  have  the  true  life,  but  only  that  he  wishes  for  the  good. 

24.  Having  learned  this,  man  ceases  to  recognize  his 
bodily  and  mortal  existence  as  separate  from  the  rest,  but 
recognizes  that  spiritual  and  so  non-mortal  existence,  in- 
separable from  the  rest,  which  is  revealed  to  him  by  his 
rational  consciousness. 

In  this  consists  the  birth  of  the  new  spiritual  being  in 
man. 

VI.      WHAT   IS    THAT    BEING   WHICH    IS    BORN    IN    MAN? 

25.  The  being  which  is  revealed  to  man  by  his  rational 
consciousness  is  the  desire  for  the  good,  the  same  desire 
for  the  good  which  even  before  formed  the  aim  of  his 
life,  but  with  this  difference,  that  the  desire  for  the  good 
of  the  former  being  had  reference  to  the  separate  bodily 
being  alone,  and  was  not  conscious  of  itself,  but  the  pres- 
ent desire  for  the  good  is  conscious  of  itself  and  so  does  not 
refer  to  anything  separate,  but  to  everything  in  existence. 

26.  During  the  first  period  of  the  awakening  of  reason 
it  appeared  to  man  that  the  desire  for  the  good  which  he 
recognizes  in  himself  has  reference  only  to  the  body  in 
which  it  is  enclosed. 

27.  But  the  clearer  and  firmer  reason  became,  the 
clearer  it  grew  that  the  true  being,  man's  true  ego,  the 
moment  it  becomes  conscious  of  itself,  is  not  his  body, 
which  has  no  true  life,  but  the  desire  for  the  good  in 
itself,  in  other  words,  the  desire  for  the  good  for  every- 
thing in  existence. 

28.  But  the  desire  for  the  good  for  everything  in  exist- 
ence is  what  gives  life  to  everything  in  existence,  that 
which  we  call  God. 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  371 

29.  Thus  the  being  which  is  revealed  to  man  by  his 
consciousness,  the  being  which  is  being  born,  is  what 
gives  life  to  everything  in  existence,  —  is  God. 


VII.      GOD,   ACCORDING  TO   THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING   COG- 
NIZED   BY    MAN    IN    HIMSELF 

30.  According  to  the  former  doctrines  about  the  cog- 
nition of  God,  man  had  to  believe  what  other  people  told 
him  about  God,  about  how  God  created  the  world  and 
men,  and  then  made  himself  manifest  to  men  ;  but  accord- 
ing to  the  Christian  teaching,  man  by  means  of  his  con- 
sciousness cognizes  God  immediately  in  himself. 

31.  In  himself  consciousness  shows  to  man  that  the 
essence  of  his  life  is  the  desire  for  the  good  for  everything 
in  existence,  something  inexplicable  and  inexpressible, 
and  at  the  same  time  something  most  near  and  compre- 
hensible to  man. 

32.  The  beginning  of  the  desire  for  the  good  appeared 
in  man  in  the  beginning,  as  the  life  of  his  separate  animal 
existence :  then  as  the  life  of  those  beings  whom  he  loved  ; 
then,  from  the  time  that  the  rational  consciousness  awoke 
in  him,  it  appeared  as  the  desire  for  the  good  for  every- 
thing in  existence.  But  the  desire  for  the  good  for 
everything  in  existence  is  the  beginning  of  all  life,  is 
love,  is  God,  as  it  says  in  the  Gospel  that  God  is  love. 


VIII.      GOD,  ACCORDING   TO  THE  CHRISTIAN  TEACHING   COG- 
NIZED   BY    MAN    OUTSIDE    HIMSELF 

33.  But  outside  of  God  as  recognized,  according  to  the 
Christian  teacliing,  in  oneself,  as  a  desire  for  the  good  for 
everything  in  existence,  as  love,  man,  according  to  the 
Christian  teaching,  recognizes  God  also  outside  of  himself 
in  everything  in  existence. 


372  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

34.  While  recognizing  in  his  separate  body  God's 
spiritual  and  indivisible  existence,  and  seeing  the  pres- 
ence of  the  same  God  in  everything  living,  man  cannot 
help  but  ask  himself  why  God,  a  spiritual,  one,  and  indi- 
visible God,  has  enclosed  himself  in  the  separate  bodies 
of  the  beings  and  in  the  body  of  the  separate  man. 

35.  Why  has  the  spiritual  and  one  being,  as  it  were, 
divided  itself  up  in  itself  ?  Why  has  the  divine  essence 
been  imprisoned  in  conditions  of  separation  and  corpo- 
reality ?  Why  is  the  immortal  contained  in  the  mortal  ? 
bound  up  with  it  ? 

36.  There  can  be  but  one  answer:  there  is  a  higher 
will,  whose  aims  are  inaccessible  to  man.  And  it  is  this 
will  which  placed  man  and  everything  in  existence  under 
the  conditions  in  which  all  is.  It  is  this  cause  which  for 
some  aims,  that  are  incomprehensible  to  man,  enclosed  it- 
self, —  the  desire  for  the  good  for  everj'thing  in  existence, 
—  love,  —  in  beings  distinct  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
that  is,  that  very  God  whom  man  recognizes  in  himself, 
who  is  recognized  by  man  without  himself. 

Thus  God,  according  to  the  Christian  religion,  is  that 
essence  of  life  which  man  recognizes  in  himself  and  in 
everything  in  the  world,  as  the  desire  for  the  good ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  that  cause  through  which  this  essence 
is  enclosed  in  conditions  of  separate  and  corporeal  life. 

God,  according  to  the  Christian  teaching,  is  that  father, 
as  is  said  in  the  Gospel,  who  has  sent  into  the  world  his 
son  who  is  like  him,  in  order  to  fulfil  in  it  his  will,  — 
the  good  of  everything  in  existence. 

IX.  THE  CONFIRMATION  OF  THE  TRUTH  OF  THE  CHRIS- 
TIAN CONCEPT  OF  LIFE  BY  THE  EXTERNAL  CONFIR- 
MATION   OF    GOD. 

37.  God  is  manifested  in  rational  man  as  the  desire 
for  the  good  for   everything    in  existence,  and    in    the 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  373 

world,  iu  separate  beings,  each  of  which  is  striving  after 
its  good. 

38.  Though  it  is  not  known,  and  cannot  be  known,  to 
man  why  it  was  necessary  for  the  one  spiritual  being, 
God,  to  manifest  himself  in  rational  man  as  the  desire 
for  the  good  for  everything  in  existence  and  in  the  sepa- 
rate beings  as  the  desire  for  the  good  for  each  one  in 
particular,  man  cannot  help  but  see  that  both  reduce 
themselves  to  one  nearest,  definite,  accessible,  and  joyous 
aim  for  man. 

39.  This  aim  is  revealed  to  man  through  observation, 
and  tradition,  and  reflection.  Observation  shows  that  all 
motion  in  the  lives  of  men  —  in  so  far  as  it  is  known  to 
them  —  consists  only  in  this,  that  formerly  divided  and 
mutually  hostile  beings  and  men  are  more  and  more  being 
united  and  bound  with  one  another  in  concord  and  inter- 
action. Tradition  shows  man  that  all  the  sages  of  the 
world  have  taught  humanity  must  from  division  pass  to 
union,  that,  as  the  prophet  says,  all  men  are  to  be  taught 
by  God,  and  that  the  spears  and  swords  are  to  be  forged 
into  pruning-hooks  and  ploughshares,  and  that,  as  Christ 
said,  all  shall  be  united,  as  I  am  one  with  my  Father. 
Keflection  shows  man  that  the  greatest  good  of  men, 
toward  which  all  men  strive,  can  be  attained  only  with 
the  greatest  union  and  concord  of  men. 

40.  And  so,  although  the  final  end  of  the  life  of  the 
world  is  concealed  from  man,  he  none  the  less  knows 
wherein  consists  the  nearest  work  of  the  life  of  the  world, 
in  which  he  is  called  to  take  a  part :  this  work  is  the  sub- 
stitution of  union  and  concord  for  division  and  discord. 

41.  Observation,  tradition,  reason  show  man  that  in 
this  consists  God's  work,  in  which  he  is  called  to  take 
part,  and  the  inner  striving  of  the  spiritual  being  which 
is  being  born  iu  him  draws  him  toward  the  same.   ■ 

42.  The  inner  striving  of  the  spiritual  being  which  is 
being  born  in  man  is  only  this :  the  increase  of  love  in 


374  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

himself.  And  it  is  this  increase  of  love  which  alone 
cooperates  with  the  work  that  is  being  done  in  the  world, 
—  the  substitution  of  union  and  concord  for  disunion  and 
struggle,  —  what  in  the  Christian  teaching  is  called  the 
establishment  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

43.  So,  if  there  could  even  be  any  doubt  as  to  the 
truth  of  the  Christian  definition  of  the  meaning  of  life, 
the  coincidence  of  man's  inner  striving,  according  to  the 
Christian  teaching,  with  the  course  of  the  whole  world's 
life,  would  confirm  this  truth. 

X.  IN  WHAT  DOES  THE  LIFE  IN  THIS  WORLD,  AS  RE- 
VEALED TO  MAN  BY  THE  CHRISTIAN  TEACHING,  CON- 
SIST ? 

44.  Being  born  into  the  new  life,  man  is  conscious 
that  in  his  existence,  which  is  separate  from  all  other 
beings,  there  is  contained  the  desire  for  the  good,  not  for 
himself  alone,  but  also  for  everything  in  existence,  —  love. 

45.  If  this  desire  for  the  good  for  everything  in  exist- 
ence, this  love,  were  not  found  in  the  separate  being,  it 
would  not  know  of  itself,  and  would  remain  always  equal 
to  itself :  but  being  qontained  within  the  hmits  of  the 
separate  being,  man,  it  recognizes  itself  and  its  limits,  and 
strives  to  tear  asunder  what  binds  it. 

46.  From  its  property,  love,  the  desire  for  the  good, 
strives  to  embrace  everything  in  existence.  Naturally,  it 
expands  its  limits  through  love,  —  at  first  to  the  family, 
to  wife  and  children,  then  to  friends  and  countrymen  ;  but 
love  is  not  satisfied  with  this,  and  strives  to  embrace  every- 
thing in  existence. 

47.  In  this  unceasing  expansion  of  the  limits  of  the 
sphere  of  love  which  forms  the  essence  of  the  birth  of 
the  spiritual  being,  is  contained  the  essence  of  man's  true 
life  in  this  world.  Man's  whole  sojourn  in  this  world, 
from  birth  until  death,  is  nothing  but  the  birth  in  him  of 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  37-5 

the  spiritual  being.     This  unceasing  birth  is  what  in  the 
Christian  teaching  is  called  the  true  life. 

48.  We  may  imagine  that  what  forms  our  body,  which 
now  presents  itself  as  a  separate  being,  which  we  love 
preferably  above  all  other  beings,  in  its  former,  lower  life 
was  only  a  collection  of  beloved  objects,  which  love  united 
into  one  in  such  a  way  that  in  this  Kfe  we  feel  it  as  our 
own  self ;  and  that  similarly  our  present  love  for  what  is 
accessible  to  us  will  in  the  future  life  form  one  indivisible 
whole,  which  will  be  as  near  to  us  as  now  our  body  is  (in 
your  Father's  house  are  many  mansions). 

XI.  IN  WHAT  WAY  DOES  THE  TRUE  LIFE,  AS  KEVEALED 
BY  THE  CHRISTIAN  TEACHING,  DIFFER  FROM  THE 
PREVIOUS    LIFE  ? 

49.  The  difference  between  the  personal  life  and  the 
true  life  consists  in  this,  that  the  aim  of  the  personal  life 
consists  in  the  increase  of  the  enjoyments  of  the  external 
life  and  its  continuation,  and  this  aim,  in  spite  of  all  efforts, 
will  never  be  attained,  because  man  has  no  power  over  ex- 
ternal conditions,  which  interfere  with  enjoyment,  or  over 
all  kinds  of  miseries,  which  may  beset  one  at  any  time ; 
but  the  aim  of  the  true  life,  which  consists  in  the  expan- 
sion of  the  sphere  of  love  and  its  increase,  cannot  be  inter- 
fered with  in  any  way,  since  all  external  causes,  such  as 
violence,  diseases,  sufferings,  which  interfere  with  the 
attainment  of  the  aims  of  the  personal  life,  contribute  to 
the  attainment  of  the  aim  of  the  spiritual  life, 

50.  The  difference  is  the  same  as  between  the  labourers 
who,  having  been  sent  to  the  master's  vineyard,  as  it  says 
in  the  Gospel  parable,  decided  that  the  vineyard  belonged 
to  them,  and  those  who  recognize  themselves  as  labourers, 
and  do  what  the  master  has  commanded  them. 


PART   THE    SECOND 

OF  SINS 

XII.      WHAT   HINDEKS   MAN   FROM  LIVING   THE   TRUE   LIFE? 

51.  In  order  to  fulfil  his  mission  man  must  increase 
love  in  himself  and  manifest  it  in  the  world,  —  and  this 
increase  of  love  and  its  manifestation  in  the  world  is  what 
is  needed  for  the  accomplishment  of  God's  work.  But 
what  can  man  do  for  the  manifestation  of  love  ? 

52.  The  basis  of  man's  life  is  the  desire  for  the  good 
for  everything  in  existence.  Love  in  man  is  contained 
within  the  limits  of  the  separate  being,  and  so  naturally 
tends  to  expand  its  limits  ;  consequently  man  has  nothing  to 
do  in  order  to  manifest  love  in  himself :  it  strives  itself  after 
its  manifestation,  and  man  needs  but  remove  the  obstacles 
to  its  progress.    In  what,  then,  do  these  obstacles  consist  ? 

53.  The  obstacles  which  hinder  man  from  manifesting 
love  are  contained  in  man's  body,  in  his  separation  from 
other  beings ;  in  this,  that,  beginning  his  life  with  baby- 
hood, during  which  time  he  lives  only  the  animal  life  of 
his  separate  existence,  he  even  later  on,  when  reason  is 
awakened  in  him,  can  never  fully  renounce  the  striving 
after  the  good  for  his  separate  existence,  and  so  commits 
acts  which  are  contrary  to  love. 

XIII.      THE     SIGNIFICANCE     OF     THE     OBSTACLES     TO     THE 
MANIFESTATION    OF   LOVE 

54.  The  desire  for  the  good  for  everything  in  existence, 
—  love,  —  striving  after  its  manifestation,  encounters  ob- 

377 


378  THE    ClIEISTIAN    TEACHING 

stacles  to  this  manifestation  iii  tliis,  that  man's  reason, 
which  sets  love  free,  does  not  awaken  in  man  at  his 
appearance  in  the  world,  but  after  a  certain  time,  when 
he  has  already  acquired  certain  habits  of  the  animal  life. 
Why  so  ? 

55.  Man  cannot  help  asking  himself  this :  Why  is  the 
spiritual  being,  love,  enclosed  in  man's  separate  being  ? 
And  to  this  question  various  teachings  have  replied  vari- 
ously. Some,  the  pessimistic,  answer  by  saying  that  the 
shutting  up  of  the  spiritual  being  in  man's  body  is  a 
mistake  which  has  to  be  corrected  by  the  destruction  of 
the  body,  by  the  destruction  of  the  animal  hfe.  Other 
teachings  answer  by  saying  that  the  assumption  of  the 
existence  of  a  spiritual  being  is  a  mistake  which  has  to  be 
corrected  by  recognizing  only  the  body  and  its  laws  as 
actually  existing.  Neither  teaching  solves  the  contra- 
diction ;  they  only  fail  to  recognize,  one  —  the  legality  of 
the  body,  the  other  —  the  legality  of  the  spirit.  It  is 
only  the  Christian  teaching  that  solves  it. 

56.  In  reply  to  the  advice  given  by  the  tempter  to 
Christ  to  destroy  his  life,  if  it  is  not  possible  for  him 
according  to  his  will  to  satisfy  all  the  demands  of  his 
animal  nature,  Christ  says  that  it  is  not  right  for  us  to 
oppose  the  will  of  God,  who  sent  us  into  the  world  in  the 
form  of  separate  beings,  but  that  in  this  hfe  of  the  separate 
being  we  must  serve  one  God  only. 

57.  According  to  the  Christian  teaching,  it  is  necessary 
for  the  solution  of  the  contradiction  of  life  not  to  destroy 
the  life  of  the  separate  being  itself,  which  would  be  con- 
trary to  the  will  of  God  who  sent  it,  and  not  to  submit 
to  the  demands  of  the  animal  life  of  each  separate  being, 
which  would  be  contrary  to  the  spiritual  principle  form- 
ing man's  true  ego,  but  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  serve 
the  one  God  in  the  body  in  which  this  true  human  ego  is 
enclosed. 

58.  Man's  true  ego  is  the  infinite  love  which  forms  the 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  379 

basis  of  his  life,  and  which  lives  in  him  and  constantly 
strives  to  be  increased.  This  love  is  contained  within  the 
limits  of  the  animal  life  of  the  separate  being,  and  always 
strives  to  be  liberated  from  it. 

59.  In  this  liberation  of  the  spiritual  being  from  the 
animal  personality,  in  this  birth  of  the  spiritual  being  hes 
the  true  life  of  each  separate  man  and  of  all  humanity. 

60.  Love  in  each  separate  man  and  in  humanity  is 
hke  steam  which  is  compressed  in  a  boiler:  the  steam, 
striving  to  expand,  pushes  the  pistons  and  produces 
work. 

Just  as  there  have  to  be  the  obstacles  of  the  walls,  in 
order  that  the  steam  may  do  its  work,  so  love,  to  produce 
its  work,  must  have  the  obstacle  of  the  limits  of  the 
separate  being  in  which  it  is  contained. 


XIV.      WHAT   MUST  MAN   NOT    DO,   IN   ORDER   THAT    HE   MAY 
LIVE    THE    TRUE    LIFE  ? 

61.  During  his  infancy,  childhood,  and  sometimes  even 
later,  man  lives  as  an  animal,  doing  God's  will,  which  is 
cognized  by  him  as  the  desire  for  the  good  for  his  separate 
being,  and  knows  no  other  Hfe. 

62.  Awakening  to  the  rational  consciousness,  man, 
though  knowing  that  his  life  is  in  the  spiritual  existence, 
continues  to  feel  himself  in  the  separate  body,  and,  from 
his  acquired  habit  of  the  animal  life,  commits  acts  which 
have  for  their  aim  the  good  of  the  separate  personality 
and  which  are  contrary  to  love. 

63.  Acting  in  this  way,  man  deprives  himself  of  the 
good  of  the  true  life  and  does  not  attain  that  aim  of 
the  good  of  the  separate  existence  toward  which  he  is 
striving,  and  so,  acting  thus,  he  commits  sins.  In  these 
sins  are  contained  the  inherent  obstacles  to  the  manifesta- 
tion of  love  in  man. 

64.  These   obstacles  are  increased  by  this,  that  men 


o 


80  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 


who  lived  before  and  committed  sins  transmit  the  habits 
and  manners  of  their  sins  to  future  generations. 

65.  Thus  every  man,  both  because  in  his  childhood  he 
acquired  the  habit  of  the  personal  hfe  of  the  separate 
being,  and  because  these  habits  of  the  personal  life  are 
transmitted  to  him  by  tradition  from  his  ancestors,  is 
always  subject  to  sins  which  interfere  with  the  manifesta- 
tion of  love. 

XV.      THREE   KINDS    OF   SIN 

66.  There  are  three  kinds  of  sins  which  impede  love : 
(a)  sins  which  arise  from  the  ineradicable  tendency  of 
man,  while  he  is  living  in  the  body,  toward  the  good 
of  his  personality,  —  inborn,  natural  sins  ;  (b)  sins  which 
arise  from  the  tradition  of  human  institutions  and  cus- 
toms, which  are  directed  to  the  increase  of  the  good  of 
separate  persons,  —  inherited,  social  sins ;  and  (c)  sins 
which  arise  from  the  tendency  of  the  separate  man 
toward  a  greater  and  greater  increase  of  the  good  of  his 
separate  being,  —  personal,  invented  sins. 

67.  Inborn  sins  consist  in  this,  that  men  assume  the 
good  to  lie  in  the  preservation  and  increase  of  the  animal 
good  of  one's  own  personality.  Every  activity  which  is 
directed  to  the  increase  of  the  animal  good  of  one's  own 
personality  is  such  an  inborn  sin. 

68.  Inherited  sins  are  sins  which  are  committed  by 
people  when  making  use  of  the  existing  methods  for  the 
increase  of  the  good  of  the  separate  personality,  as  estab- 
lished by  men  who  lived  before  them.  Every  use  of 
institutions  and  customs  established  for  the  good  of  one's 
personality  is  such  an  inherited  sin. 

69.  Personal  invented  sins  are  such  as  people  commit, 
inventing,  besides  the  inherited  methods,  new  means  for 
the  increase  of  the  good  of  their  separate  personality. 
Every  newly  invented  means  for  the  increase  of  the 
good  of  one's  separate  being  is  a  personal  sin. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  381 


XVI.      THE   DIVISION    OF   THE   SINS 

70.  There  are  six  sins  which  impede  the  manifestation 
of  love  in  men. 

71.  The  sin  of  lust,  which  consists  in  preparing  for 
oneself  pleasures  from  the  gratification  of  necessities. 

72.  The  sin  of  idleness,  which  consists  in  freeing  one- 
self from  labour  necessary  for  the  gratification  of  neces- 
sities. 

73.  The  sin  of  greed,  which  consists  in  preparing  for 
oneself  the  possibility  of  the  gi-atification  of  one's  necessi- 
ties in  the  future. 

74.  The  sin  of  the  love  of  power,  which  consists  in 
subjecting  one's  like  to  oneself. 

75.  The  sin  of  fornication,  which  consists  in  preparing 
for  oneself  enjoyments  from  the  gratification  of  the  sexiial 
passion. 

76.  The  sin  of  intoxication,  which  consists  in  producing 
an  artificial  excitation  of  one's  bodily  and  mental  forces. 

XVII.      THE    SIN   OF  LUST 

77.  Man  has  to  satisfy  his  bodily  needs,  and  in  the 
unconscious  state  he,  like  any  animal,  fully  satisfies  them 
without  restraining  or  intensifying  them,  and  in  this 
gratification  of  his  need  he  finds  his  good. 

78.  But  having  awakened  to  a  rational  consciousness, 
it  appears  to  man  at  first  that  the  good  of  his  separate 
being  is  contained  in  the  gratification  of  his  needs,  and  he 
invents  means  for  the  increase  of  enjoyment  from  the 
gratification  of  his  needs,  and  tries  to  maintain  the  means, 
invented  by  men  who  hved  before,  for  an  agreeable  grati- 
fication of  needs,  and  himself  invents  new,  still  more 
agreeable  means  for  their  gratification.  In  this  consists 
the  sin  of  lust. 

79.  When  a  man  eats,  without  being  hungry,  when  he 


382  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

dresses  himself,  not  iu  order  to  defend  himself  against  the 
cold,  or  builds  a  house,  not  in  order  to  seek  shelter  in  it 
from  bad  weather,  but  in  order  to  increase  the  pleasure  from 
the  gratification  of  needs,  he  commits  the  inborn  sin  of  lust. 

80.  But  when  a  man  is  born  and  brought  up  in  habits 
of  superabundance  in  drink,  food,  raiment,  habitation,  and 
continues  to  use  his  superabundance,  maintaining  his 
habits,  he  commits  the  inherited  sin  of  lust. 

81.  And  when  a  man,  living  in  luxury,  invents  still 
more  new  and  agreeable  means  for  the  gratification  of  needs, 
such  as  are  not  employed  by  men  around  him,  and  in  the 
place  of  his  former  simple  food  and  drink  introdr.ces  new, 
more  refined  ones,  and  in  the  place  of  his  former  raiment 
which  covered  his  body  provides  himself  with  new,  more 
beautiful  garments,  and  instead  of  the  former  small,  simple 
house  builds  himself  a  new  one,  with  now  adornments,  and 
so  forth,  —  he  commits  the  personal  sin  of  lust. 

82.  The  sin  of  lust,  whether  inborn  or  inherited  or  per- 
sonal, consists  in  this,  that,  striving  after  the  good  of  his 
separate  being,  by  means  of  the  gratification  of  his  needs, 
man,  by  intensifying  these  needs,  impedes  his  birth  to  the 
new  spiritual  hfe. 

83.  Besides,  the  man  who  acts  thus  does  not  attain  the 
aim  toward  which  he  is  striving,  because  every  intensifi- 
cation of  his  needs  makes  less  probable  the  possibility  of 
the  gratification  of  lust  and  weakens  the  enjoyment  from 
the  gratification  itself.  The  more  frequently  a  man 
quenches  his  thirst,  the  more  refined  the  food  used  by 
him  is,  the  less  enjoyment  will  he  get  from  his  eating. 
The  same  is  true  in  relation  to  the  gratification  of  all 
other  animal  needs. 

XVIII.       THE    SIN    OF   IDLENESS 

84.  A  man,  like  an  animal,  must  exercise  his  strength. 
This  strength  is  naturally  directed  to  the  preparation  of 


TUE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  383 

objects  necessary  for  the  gratification  of  his  needs.  After 
the  labour  directed  upon  this,  man,  like  any  animal,  needs 
rest. 

85.  In  his  unconscious  state  man,  like  an  animal, 
while  preparing  for  himself  objects  that  are  necessary  for 
life,  alternates  labour  with  rest,  and  in  this  natural  rest 
finds  his  good. 

86.  But  having  awakened  to  a  rational  consciousness, 
man  separates  the  labour  from  the  rest  and,  finding  his 
rest  more  agreeable,  tries  to  diminish  his  labour  and  to 
prolong  his  rest,  compelling,  through  force  or  cunning, 
other  people  to  serve  his  needs.  In  this  consists  the  sin 
of  idleness. 

87.  When  a  man,  employing  the  labours  of  others, 
rests  when  he  is  still  able  to  work,  he  commits  the  inborn 
sin  of  idleness. 

88.  But  when  a  man  is  born  and  lives  in  such  a  state 
that  he  makes  use  of  the  labours  of  otlier  men,  without 
being  put  to  the  necessity  of  working  himself,  and  main- 
tains such  an  order  of  things,  without  working,  making 
use  of  the  labours  of  others,  he  commits  the  inherited  sin 
of  idleness. 

89.  But  when  a  man,  having  been  born  and  living 
among  men  who  are  accustomed  without  labour  to  exploit 
the  work  of  other  men,  himself  invents  means  for  freeing 
himself  from  labours  which  he  formerly  performed  him- 
self, and  imposes  this  work  upon  others ;  when  a  man, 
who  used  to  clean  his  own  clothes,  makes  another  person 
do  it,  or  who  used  to  write  letters  himself,  or  kept  his 
own  accounts  or  himself  attended  to  his  affairs,  makes 
others  do  all  this,  and  himself  uses  his  free  time  for  rest 
or  amusement,  he  commits  the  personal  sin  of  idle- 
ness. 

90.  The  fact  that  each  man  cannot  do  everything  for 
himself,  and  tliat  the  division  of  labour  frequently  perfects 
and  hghtens  labour,  cannot  serve  as  a  justification  of  the 


384  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

liberation  of  oneself  from  labour  in  general  or  from  hard 
labour,  by  substituting  what  is  easy  for  it.  Every  pro- 
duction of  labour  which  man  employs  demands  from  him 
a  corresponding  labour,  and  not  a  lightening  of  his  labour 
or  a  complete  liberation  from  it. 

91.  The  sin  of  idleness,  whether  inborn,  or  inherited, 
or  personrJ,  consists  in  this,  that,  by  stopping  his  labour 
and  exploiting  the  labour  of  others,  man  does  what  is 
contrary  to  what  he  is  destined  to  do,  since  the  true  good 
is  acquired  only  through  the  activity  of  service. 

92.  Besides,  a  man  who  acts  like  this  does  not  even 
attain  what  he  is  striving  after,  since  the  enjoyment  from 
rest  is  obtained  only  after  work.  And  the  less  work 
there  is,  the  less  there  are  enjoyments  of  rest. 

XIX.      THE    SIN   OF   GREED 

93.  The  position  of  a  man  in  the  world  is  such  that 
his  bodily  existence  is  made  secure  by  general  laws,  to 
which  man  is  subject  together  with  all  animals.  Surren- 
dering himself  to  his  instinct,  man  must  v/ork,  and  the 
natural  aim  of  liis  work  is  the  gratification  of  needs,  and 
this  work  always  secures  his  existence  with  a  surplus. 
Man  is  a  social  being,  and  the  fruits  of  his  work  accumu- 
late so  much  in  society  that,  if  there  were  not  the  sin  of 
greed,  every  man  who  cannot  work  could  always  have 
what  he  needs  for  the  gratification  of  his  needs.  And  so 
the  Gospel  utterance  about  not  taking  any  thought  of  the 
morrow,  but  hving  as  the  fowls  of  the  air,  is  not  a  meta- 
phor, but  the  assertion  of  an  existing  law  of  every  animal 
social  life.  Even  so  it  says  in  the  Koran  that  there  is 
not  one  animal  in  the  world  to  whom  God  does  not  give 
sustenance. 

94.  But  man,  even  after  his  awakening  to  rational 
consciousness,  continues  to  imagine  that  his  life  consists 
in  the  good  of  his  separate   being,  and  since  this  being 


THE    CllKISTIAN    TEACHING  385 

lives  in  time,  man  cares  for  the  special  security  of  the 
gratification  of  his  needs  in  this  future  for  himseK  and 
for  his  family. 

95.  But  the  special  security  in  the  future  of  the  gratifi- 
cation of  needs  for  himself  and  for  his  family  is  possible 
only  by  withholding  from  other  people  the  objects  of  the 
needs,  what  is  called  property.  And  it  is  to  the  acquisi- 
tion, retention,  and  increase  of  property  that  man  directs 
his  forces.     In  this  consists  the  sin  of  greed. 

96.  When  a  man  regards  the  food  prepared  or  received 
by  him  for  the  morrow,  or  the  raiment,  or  the  cow  for  the 
winter  for  himself  or  for  his  family  as  exclusively  his 
own,  he  commits  the  inborn  crime  of  greed. 

97.  But  when  man  with  awakened  consciousness  finds 
himself  under  such  conditions  that  he  considers  certain 
objects  as  exclusively  his  own,  although  these  objects  are 
not  needed  for  the  security  of  his  life,  and  withholds  these 
objects  from  others,  he  commits  the  inherited  sin  of 
greed. 

98.  And  when  man,  who  already  has  the  objects  which 
he  wants  for  the  security  of  his  needs  in  his  future  and 
in  the  future  of  his  family,  and  owns  objects  which  are 
superfluous  for  the  support  of  his  life,  keeps  acquiring 
new  objects,  and  withholds  them  from  others,  he  commits 
the  personal  sin  of  greed. 

99.  The  sin  of  greed,  whether  inborn,  or  inherited,  or 
personal,  consists  in  this,  that,  trying  to  secure  in  the 
future  the  good  of  his  separate  being,  and  so  acquiring 
objects  and  withholding  them  from  others,  man  does 
what  is  contrary  to  what  he  is  destined  for ;  instead  of 
serving  men,  he  takes  from  them  what  is  needed. 

100.  Besides,  a  man  who  acts  thus  never  attains  the 
aim  toward  which  he  is  striving,  since  the  future  is  not 
in  man's  power,  and  man  may  die  at  any  moment.  But 
by  wasting  on  the  unknown  and  the  possibly  unreahzable 
future,  he  obviously  commits  an  error. 


386  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 


XX.       THE    SIN    OF    LOVE    OF    POWER 

101.  Man,  like  the  animal,  is  placed  under  such  con- 
ditions that  every  gratification  of  his  needs  causes  him  to 
enter  into  a  struggle  with  other  beings. 

102.  Man's  animal  hfe  is  sustained  only  at  the  cost  of 
other  beings.  Struggle  is  the  natural  property  and  law 
of  the  animal  life.  And  man,  hving  an  animal  life 
previous  to  the  awakening  of  consciousness  in  him,  finds 
the  good  in  this  struggle. 

103.  But  when  in  man  there  awakens  the  rational 
consciousness,  it  appears  to  him  during  the  first  of  this 
awakening  that  his  good  is  increased  if  he  vanquishes 
and  conquers  as  many  beings  as  possible,  and  he  uses  his 
strength  for  the  subjugation  of  men  and  beings.  In  this 
consists  the  sin  of  the  love  of  power. 

104.  When  man,  in  order  to  defend  his  personal  good, 
considers  it  necessary  to  struggle,  and  struggles  against 
those  people  and  beings  who  want  to  subjugate  him,  he 
commits  the  inborn  sin  of  the  love  of  power. 

105.  But  when  man  is  born  and  brought  up  under 
certain  conditions  of  power,  whether  he  be  born  a  son  of 
a  king,  a  nobleman,  a  merchant,  or  a  rich  peasant,  and, 
remaining  in  this  position,  does  not  put  a  stop  to  this 
struggle,  which  is  at  times  imperceptible,  but  always 
necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  one's  position,  he  com- 
mits the  inherited  sin  of  the  love  of  power. 

106.  And  when  man,  finding  himself  in  certain  con- 
stant conditions  of  struggle,  and  wishing  to  increase  his 
good,  does  enter  also  into  new  conflicts  with  men  and 
other  beings,  wishing  to  increase  his  power ;  when  he 
attacks  his  neighbour,  in  order  to  take  possession  of  his 
property,  his  lands,  or  tries,  by  obtaining  rights,  a  diploma, 
a  rank,  to  occupy  a  higher  position  than  he  is  occupying, 
or,  wishing  to  increase  his  estate,  enters  into  a  struggle 
with  his  rivals  and  labourers,  or  enters  into  a  struggle  with 


THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  387 

other  nations,  he  commits  the  personal  sin  of  the  love  of 
power. 

107.  The  sin  of  love  of  power,  whether  inborn,  or 
inherited,  or  personal,  consists  in  this,  that,  using  his 
strength  for  the  attainment  of  the  good  of  his  separate 
being  by  means  of  struggle,  man  does  what  is  directly 
opposed  to  what  is  proper  to  the  true  life.  Instead  of 
increasing  love  in  himself,  that  is,  of  destroying  the 
barriers  which  separate  him  from  other  beings,  he  in- 
creases them. 

108.  Besides,  by  entering  into  a  struggle  with  men 
and  beings,  man  obtains  the  very  opposite  to  what  he  is 
striving  after.  By  entering  into  the  struggle,  he  increases 
the  probability  that  other  beings  will  attack  him,  and  that, 
instead  of  subjugating  other  beings,  he  will  be  vanquished 
by  them.  The  more  a  man  is  successful  in  the  struggle, 
the  more  tension  is  demanded  of  him  in  this  struggle. 

XXI.      THE    SIN    OF    FORNICATION 

109.  In  man  is  implanted  the  need  for  preserving  the 
species,  —  the  sexual  need,  and  man  in  his  animal  state, 
in  surrendering  liimself  to  it,  and  cohabiting,  thus  fulfils 
his  destiny,  and  in  this  fulfilment  of  his  destiny  finds  his 
good. 

110.  But  with  the  awakening  of  consciousness,  man 
imagines  that  the  gratification  of  this  need  may  increase 
the  good  of  his  separate  being,  and  he  enters  into  sexual 
intercourse,  not  for  the  purpose  of  continuing  the  race, 
but  of  increasing  his  personal  good.  In  this  consists  the 
sin  of  fornication. 

111.  The  sin  of  fornication  differs  from  all  other  sins 
in  this,  that  while  with  all  other  sins  a  full  continence 
from  inborn  sin  is  impossible,  and  only  a  diminution  of 
the  inborn  sin  is  possible,  in  the  sin  of  fornication  a  full 
continence  from  sin  is  possible.     This  is  due  to  the  fact 


388  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

that  complete  abstinence  from  the  gratification  of  the 
needs  of  personality,  from  food,  raiment,  shelter,  destroys 
the  personality  itself,  just  as  the  personality  is  destroyed 
by  the  absence  of  all  rest,  of  all  property,  and  of  all 
struggle,  but  the  continence  from  the  sexual  need  — 
chastity,  of  one  or  of  several  —  does  not  destroy  the 
human  race,  what  the  sexual  need  is  to  support,  since 
the  continence  of  one,  of  several,  and  of  many  men  from 
sexual  intercourse  does  not  destroy  the  human  race. 
Thus  the  gratification  of  the  sexual  need  is  not  obligatory 
for  all  men :  to  each  individual  man  is  given  the  possi- 
bility of  continence  from  this  need. 

112.  Man  is,  as  it  were,  presented  with  the  choice  of 
two  ways  of  serving  God :  either,  remaining  free  from  the 
marital  life  and  its  consequences,  with  his  life  to  perform 
in  this  world  everything  man  is  destined  by  God  to  fulfil, 
or,  having  recognized  his  weakness,  to  transmit  part  of  the 
fulfilment,  or,  at  least,  the  possibility  of  the  fulfilment  of 
what  is  unfulfilled,  to  his  begotten,  nurtured,  and  reared 
posterity. 

113.  From  this  peculiarity  of  the  sexual  need,  which 
is  distinct  from  all  the  rest,  there  result  two  different 
degrees  of  the  sin  of  fornication,  according  to  which  of  the 
two  destinations  man  chooses  for  himself. 

114.  With  the  first  destination,  when  man  wants, 
remaining  chaste,  to  devote  all  his  strength  to  the  service 
of  God,  every  sexual  intercourse  will  be  a  sin  of  fornica- 
tion, even  though  it  have  for  its  aim  the  begetting  and 
bringing  up  of  children  ;  the  purest  and  chastest  marriage 
will  be  such  an  inborn  sin  for  the  man  who  has  chosen 
the  destination  of  virginity. 

115.  An  inherited  sin  for  such  a  man  will  be  every 
continuation  of  such  sexual  relations,  even  though  in 
marriage,  which  have  for  their  aim  the  begetting  and 
bringing  up  of  children  ;  a  liberation  from  the  inherited  sin 
will  for  such  a  man  be  the  cessation  of  sexual  intercourse. 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  389 

116.  A  personal,  invented  sin  for  such  a  man  will  be 
the  entrance  into  sexual  relation  with  another  person 
than  the  one  to  whom  he  is  married. 

117.  In  choosing  as  his  destination  the  service  of  God 
through  the  continuation  of  the  race,  man's  inborn  sin 
will  consist  in  every  sexual  intercourse  which  has  not 
the  continuation  of  the  race  for  its  aim,  as  is  the  case  in 
prostitution,  accidental  unions,  and  in  marriages  contracted 
from  calculation,  connections,  and  love. 

118.  An  inherited  sin  for  a  man  who  has  chosen  as 
his  destination  the  continuation  of  the  race  will  be  a 
sexual  intercourse  from  which  no  children  can  be  born, 
or  in  cases  where  the  parents  cannot  or  do  not  wish  to 
bring  up  the  children  who  are  born  from  their  union. 

119.  But  when  a  person,  having  chosen  the  second 
destination  of  serving  the  continuatiou  of  the  race,  be  it  a 
man  or  a  woman,  who  is  already  in  sexual  intercourse  with 
one  person,  enters  into  such  an  intercourse  with  other 
persons,  not  for  the  production  of  a  family,  but  for  the 
increase  of  enjoyment  from  sexual  intercourse,  or  tries  to 
prevent  childbirth^  or  abandons  himself  to  unnatural  vices, 
he  commits  the  personal  sin  of  fornication. 

120.  Sin,  that  is,  the  error  of  fornication,  for  a  man 
who  has  chosen  the  destination  of  virginity,  consists  in 
this,  that  man,  who  might  have  chosen  a  higher  destina- 
tion and  used  all  his  forces  in  the  service  of  God,  and 
consequently  for  the  continuation  of  love  and  the  attain- 
ment of  the  highest  good,  descends  to  a  lower  stage  of 
life  and  is  deprived  of  this  good. 

121.  And  for  a  man  who  has  chosen  the  destination 
of  the  continuation  of  the  race,  the  sin,  the  error,  of 
fornication  consists  in  this,  that,  depriving  themselves 
of  the  begetting  of  children,  or,  at  least,  of  domestic 
communion,  people  deprive  themselves  of  the  highest 
good  of  the  sexual  life. 

122.  Besides,  people  who  try  to  increase  the  good  from 


390  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

the  sexual  intercourse,  as  in  all  the  gratifications  of  needs, 
diminish  the  natural  enjoyment  in  proportion  as  they 
abandon  themselves  to  this  lust. 


XXII.      THE    SIN    OF   INTOXICATION 

123.  In  his  natural  state  it  is  proper  for  man,  as  for 
any  animal,  to  arrive  through  external  causes  at  a  condi- 
tion of  excitation,  and  this  temporary  excitation  gives 
the  good  to  a  man  who  is  in  this  animal  condition. 

124.  But  having  awakened  to  consciousness,  man  no- 
tices the  causes  that  lead  him  to  this  condition  of  excita- 
tion, and  tries  to  reproduce  and  intensify  these  causes,  for 
the  purpose  of  evoking  this  condition  in  himself ;  and  for 
this  purpose  he  prepares  for  himself  and  takes  into  his 
stomach  or  inhales  substances  which  produce  this  excita- 
tion, or  creates  for  himself  the  surroundings,  or  makes 
those  peculiar  intensified  motions,  which  bring  him  into 
that  state.     In  this  does  the  sin  of  intoxication  consist. 

125.  The  peculiarity  of  this  sin  consists  in  this,  that 
while  all  those  sins  only  distract  the-  man  born  to  the 
new  life  from  the  activity  which  is  proper  to  him,  by  in- 
creasing in  him  his  tendency  to  prolong  his  animal  life, 
and  do  not  weaken  or  impair  the  activity  of  reason,  the 
sin  of  intoxication  not  only  weakens  the  activity  of  the 
mind,  but  for  a  time,  and  often  for  all  times,  destroys  it  ? 
so  that  a  man  who  gets  himself  into  an  excited  state 
through  smoking,  wine,  certain  solemn  surroundings,  or 
intensified  motions,  as  the  dervishes  and  other  religious 
fanatics  do,  under  these  conditions  frequently  not  only 
performs  acts  which  are  proper  to  animals,  but  even  such 
as,  by  their  madness  and  cruelty,  are  not  proper  to 
animals. 

126.  The  natural  inborn  sin  of  intoxication  consists  in 
this,  that,  having  received  pleasure  from  a  certain  condi- 
tion of    excitation,  whether  it  be  produced  by  food  or 


THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  391 

drink,  surroundings  which  affect  vision  or  hearing,  or  by- 
certain  motions,  a  man  does  not  abstain  from  that  which 
produces  this  intoxication.  When  a  man,  without  notic- 
ing it  himseK,  excites  himself  without  intention,  eats 
sweetmeats,  drinks  tea,  kvas,  or  mash,  adorns  himself  or 
his  habitation,  or  dances,  or  plays,  he  commits  the  inborn, 
natural  sin  of  intoxication. 

127.  But  when  a  man  is  born  and  brought  up  in  cer- 
tain habits  of  intoxication,  in  the  habits  of  the  use  of 
tobacco,  wine,  opium,  in  habits  of  solemn  spectacles, — 
public,  domestic,  ecclesiastic,  —  or  in  the  habits  of  cer- 
tain kinds  of  motions,  gymnastics,  dancing,  obeisances, 
leaps,  and  so  forth,  and  keeps  up  these  habits,  he  commits 
the  inherited  sin  of  intoxication. 

128.  And  when  a  man  is  brought  up  in  certain  habits 
of  periodic  intoxication,  and  is  used  to  them,  and,  by  imi- 
tation of  others  or  through  his  own  invention,  introduces 
new  methods  of  intoxication,  —  after  tobacco  begins  to 
smoke  opium,  after  wine  drinks  whiskey,  introduces  new 
festive  celebrations  with  a  new  intensified  effect  of  pic- 
tures, dances,  light,  music,  or  introduces  new  methods  of 
exciting  bodily  motions,  of  gymnastics,  of  bicycle  riding, 
and  so  forth,  he  commits  the  personal  sin  of  intoxica- 
tion. 

129.  The  sin  of  intoxication,  whether  inborn,  or  in- 
herited, or  personal,  consists  in  this,  that  a  man,  instead  of 
using  all  the  power  of  his  attention  in  removing  every^- 
thing  which  may  bedim  his  consciousness,  that  reveals  to 
him  the  meaning  of  his  true  life,  tries,  on  the  contrary, 
to  weaken  and  to  shroud  this  consciousness  with  external 
means  of  excitation, 

130.  Besides,  a  man  who  acts  in  this  manner  attains 
the  opposite  to  what  he  has  been  striving  after.  The 
excitation  which  is  produced  by  external  means  weakens 
with  every  new  method  of  excitation  and,  in  spite  of 
the  intensification  of   the  methods  of  excitation,  which 


392  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

destroys  health,  the  abiHty  of  the  excitation  grows  weaker 
and  weaker. 


XXIII.      THE   CONSEQUENCES   OF   SINS 

'    131.  Sins  serve  as  an  impediment  to  the  manifestation 
of  love. 

132.  But  not  only  do  sins  serve  as  an  impediment  in 
the  manifestation  of  love ;  they  also  produce  in  men  the 
greatest  calamities.  The  calamities  produced  by  sins  are 
of  two  kinds :  one  class  of  calamities  are  those  from 
which  men  suffer  who  are  subject  to  sin ;  the  others  are 
those  from  which  others  suffer.  The  calamities  which 
befall  those  who  commit  sins  are :  effeminacy,  satiety, 
tedium,  despondency,  apathy,  care,  terror,  suspicion, 
malice,  envy,  fury,  jealousy,  impotence,  and  all  kinds  of 
agonizing  diseases.  The  calamities  from  which  others 
suffer  are :  thieving,  robbery,  torture,  riots,  murder. 

133.  If  there  were  no  sins,  there  would  be  no  poverty, 
nor  satiety,  nor  dissipation,  nor  thieving,  nor  robbery,  nor 
murder,  nor  executions,  nor  wars. 

134.  If  there  were  no  sin  of  lust,  there  would  be  no 
want  on  the  part  of  the  dispossessed,  no  tedium  and 
no  fear  on  the  part  of  those  who  live  luxuriously,  no  use- 
less loss  of  force  for  the  safeguarding  of  the  pleasures  of 
those  who  live  luxuriously,  no  debasement  of  the  spiritual 
forces  of  the  needy,  no  constant,  concealed  struggle  be- 
tween both,  which  begets  envy  and  hatred  in  the  one 
class,  and  contempt  and  terror  in  the  other ;  and  this 
enmity  would  not  from  time  to  time  break  forth  in 
violence,  murders,  and  revolutions. 

135.  If  there  were  no  sin  of  idleness,  there  would  not 
be,  on  the  one  side,  any  men  who  are  exhausted  from 
work,  and  on  the  other,  men  who  are  distorted  through 
inaction  and  constant  amusements ;  there  would  be  no 
division  of  men  into  two  inimical  camps,  of  men  filled 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  393 

to  satiety  and  of  the  hungry,  of  the  idle  and  of  those  who 
are  worn  out  by  work. 

136.  If  there  were  no  sin  of  ownership,  there  would 
not  be  all  those  acts  of  violence  which  are  committed  by 
one  class  of  men  on  the  other  for  the  purpose  of  acquir- 
ing and  retaining  objects ;  there  would  be  no  thieving, 
robbery,  incarceration,  exile,  hard  labour,  and  executions. 

137.  If  there  were  no  sin  of  power,  there  would  be 
none  of  those  enormous,  useless  wastes  of  human  force 
in  vanquishing  one  another  and  for  the  support  of  power ; 
there  would  be  no  pride  and  no  dulling  of  the  victors, 
and  no  flattery,  deceit,  and  hatred  of  the  conquered ;  there 
would  be  no  divisions  of  family,  classes,  nations,  and  the  dis- 
putes, quarrels,  murders,  and  wars,  which  result  from  them. 

138.  If  there  were  no  sin  of  fornication,  there  would 
be  no  slavery  of  woman,  no  torture  of  woman,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  no  spoiling  and  no  corruption  of  her ;  there 
would  be  no  disputes,  quarrels,  murders  from  jealousy,  no 
reduction  of  woman  to  the  level  of  an  instrument  of  the 
gratification  of  the  flesh,  no  prostitution  ;  there  would  be 
no  unnatural  vices ;  there  would  be  no  weakening  of 
bodily  and  spiritual  forces,  none  of  those  terrible  diseases, 
from  which  men  suffer  now ;  there  would  be  no  waifs 
and  no  infanticide. 

139.  If  there  were  no  intoxication  by  means  of  to- 
bacco, wine,  opium,  exciting  intensified  motions,  and 
festivities,  there  would  be  no  dissipation  of  men  in  sins. 
There  would  not  be  one  hundredth  part  of  the  disputes, 
quarrels,  robberies,  acts  of  lust,  murders,  which  take  place 
now,  especially  under  the  influence  of  the  weakening  of 
men's  spiritual  forces ;  there  would  not  be  that  useless 
waste  of  energy,  not  only  on  unnecessary,  but  on  directly 
harmful  acts :  there  would  not  be  any  dulling  and  dis- 
figurement of  men,  often  the  best,  who  pass  through  life 
without  being  of  any  use  for  others,  and  a  burden  to 
themselves. 


PART    THE    THIRD 

OF   OFFENCES 

XXIV.      THE   OFFENCES 

140.  The  pernicious  consequences  of  sins  for  the  sepa- 
rate individuals  who  commit  them,  as  also  for  the  society 
of  men,  among  whom  the  sins  are  committed,  are  so 
obvious  that  from  remotest  antiquity  men  have  seen  the 
calamities  which  arise  from  them,  and  have  issued  laws 
against  the  sins  and  have  punished  them :  there  was  a 
prohibition  against  steaUng,  killing,  committing  debauch, 
slandering,  getting  drunk,  but  in  spite  of  the  prohibition 
and  the  punishments,  men  have  continued  to  sin,  ruining 
their  own  lives  and  those  of  their  nearest  friends. 

141.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  for  the  justification 
of  the  sins  there  exist  false  reflections,  from  which  it 
follows  that  there  are  certain  exclusive  circumstances 
according  to  which  sins  are  not  only  venial,  but  also  nec- 
essary. These  false  justifications  are  what  is  called  the 
offences. 

142.  Offence  is  in  Greek  a-KcivhaXov,  which  means 
noose,  trap.  Indeed,  an  offence  is  a  trap  into  which  a 
man  is  enticed  by  the  similitude  of  the  good,  and,  having 
fallen  into  it,  he  perishes  in  it.  For  this  reason  it  says 
in  the  Gospel  that  the  offences  must  enter  into  the  world, 
but  woe  to  the  world  from  the  offences,  and  woe  to  him 
through  whom  they  enter. 

143.  It  is  because  of  these  offences  of  the  false  justifi- 

395 


396  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

cations  of  the  sins  that  men  do  not  mend  from  their 
sins,  but  continue  to  sink  in  them  and,  what  is  worse 
than  anything,  educate  their  young  generations  in 
them. 

XXV.      THE   OEIGIN   OF   THE   OFFENCES 

144.  The  birth  of  man  to  the  new  life  does  not  take 
place  at  once,  but  gradually,  just  hke  carnal  birth :  the 
efforts  of  birth  alternate  with  arrests  and  returns  to 
the  former  condition,  and  the  manifestations  of  the 
spiritual  life  —  with  the  manifestations  of  the  animal 
life ;  man  now  abandons  himself  to  the  service  of  God 
and  in  this  service  sees  the  good,  and  now  returns  to  the 
personal  hfe  and  seeks  the  good  of  his  separate  being  and 
commits  sins. 

145.  Having  committed  these  sins,  man  recognizes  the 
non-correspondence  of  the  act  with  the  demands  of  his 
conscience.  So  long  as  man  only  wishes  to  commit  a 
sin,  this  non-correspondence  is  not  completely  clear ;  but 
as  soon  as  the  sin  is  committed,  the  non-correspondence 
is  made  obvious,  and  man  wishes  to  destroy  it. 

146.  The  non-correspondence  of  the  act  and  the  posi- 
tion into  which  man  enters  in  consequence  of  sin  may  be 
destroyed  only  by  using  reason  for  the  justification  of  the 
act  committed  and  the  position. 

147.  The  contradiction  of  the  sin  with  the  demands 
of  the  spiritual  life  can  be  justified  only  by  explaining 
the  sin  by  the  demands  of  the  spiritual  life.  This  is  pre- 
cisely what  men  do,  and  this  mental  activity  ^is  that 
which  is  called  an  offence. 

148.  Ever  since  there  has  appeared  in  men  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  contradiction  between  their  animal  and 
their  spiritual  life,  ever  since  men  began  to  commit  sins, 
they  began  to  invent  their  justification,  that  is,  offences, 
and  so  there  have  established   themselves  among  men 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  397 

traditions  of  ever  the  same  justifications  of  sins,  that  is, 
of  offences,  so  that  a  man  does  not  need  to  invent  his  own 
justifications  for  his  sins,  —  they  were  invented  before 
him,  and  he  needs  only  accept  ready,  established 
offences. 


XXVI.      THE    DIVISION    OF    THE    OFFENCES 

149.  There  are  five  offences  which  ruin  men :  the  per- 
sonal offence,  or  the  offence  of  preparation ;  the  family 
offence,  or  the  offence  of  the  continuation  of  the  race; 
the  offence  of  work,  affairs,  or  of  profit ;  the  offence  of 
companionship,  or  of  loyalty ;  the  offence  of  state,  or 
of  the  common  good. 

150.  The  personal  offence,  or  the  offence  of  prepara- 
tion, consists  in  this,  that  a  man,  committing  a  sin,  jus- 
tifies himself  by  saying  that  he  is  preparing  himself  for  an 
activity  which  in  the  future  is  to  be  useful  to  men. 

151.  The  family  offence,  or  the  offence  of  the  continua- 
tion of  the  race,  consists  in  this,  that  man,  commit- 
ting sins,  justifies  them  as  being  for  the  good  of  his 
children. 

152.  The  offence  of  work,  affairs,  or  of  profit,  consists 
in  this,  that  a  man  justifies  his  sins  by  the  necessity  of 
conducting  and  finishing  an  affair  which  he  has  begun  and 
which  is  useful  for  men. 

153.  The  offence  of  companionship,  or  of  loyalty,  con- 
sists in  this,  that  man  justifies  his  sins  as  being  for  the 
good  of  those  men  with  whom  he  has  entered  into  exclu- 
sive relations. 

154.  The  offence  of  state,  or  of  the  common  good,  con- 
sists in  this,  that  men  justify  the  sins  committed  by  them 
as  being  for  the  good  of  many  men,  of  the  nation,  of 
humanity.  This  is  the  offence  which  is  expressed  by 
Caiaphas,  who  demanded  the  killing  of  Christ  in  the 
name  of  the  good  of  many. 


398  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 


XXVII.      THE   PEKSONAL   OFFENCE,   OR   THE   OFFENCE   OF 

PREPARATION 

155.  "I  know  that  the  meaning  of  ray  life  is  in  serv- 
ing not  myself,  but  God  or  men ;  but,  in  order  that  my 
serving  of  men  may  be  successful,"  says  the  man  who  has 
fallen  into  this  offence, "  I  can  admit  some  departures  from 
the  demands  of  my  conscience,  if  they  are  necessary  for 
my  perfection,  which  is  preparing  me  for  my  future  activ- 
ity that  is  useful  to  men ;  I  must  first  study,  must  first 
serve  the  term  of  my  office,  must  first  improve  my  health, 
must  first  get  married,  must  first  secure  the  means  of  my 
life  in  the  future,  and  before  I  attain  this,  I  cannot  fully 
follow  the  demands  of  my  conscience,  and  when  I  have 
finished  it,  I  shall  begin  to  live  exactly  as  my  conscience 
demands." 

156.  Having  recognized  the  necessity  of  caring  for  his 
personal  life  for  the  more  real  service  of  men  and  the 
consequent  manifestation  of  love,  man  serves  liis  per- 
sonality, committing  sins  of  lust,  and  of  idleness,  and  of 
property,  and  of  power,  and  of  debauchery  even,  and 
of  intoxication,  without  considering  those  sins  important 
because  he  permits  them  to  himself  but  for  a  time,  for 
that  time  when  all  his  forces  are  directed  upon  the  prep- 
aration of  himself  for  the  active  service  of  men. 

157.  Having  begun  to  serve  his  personality,  preserving, 
intensifying,  and  perfecting  it,  man  naturally  forgets  the 
aim  for  which  he  is  doing  it,  and  gives  his  best  years,  and 
frequently  his  whole  life,  to  such  a  preparation  for  service, 
which  never  arrives. 

158.  In  the  meantime  the  sins  which  he  permits  him- 
self for  the  sake  of  the  beneficent  aim,  become  more  and 
more  habitual,  and,  instead  of  the  proposed  useful  activity 
for  men,  man  passes  all  his  life  in  sins,  which  ruin  his  own 
life  and  offend  others  and  do  them  harm.  In  this  lies  the 
offence  of  preparation. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  399 


XXVIII.      THE    OFFENCE    OF    FAMILY,   OR    OF    THE    CONTINU- 
ATION  OF   THE    RACE 

159.  On  entering  into  a  family  union,  people,  especially 
women,  are  prone  to  think  that  their  love  to  their  family, 
to  their  children,  is  precisely  that  which  their  rational 
consciousness  asks  of  them,  and  that  therefore,  if  in  their 
family  life  they  have  to  commit  sins  for  the  gratification 
of  the  needs  of  their  family,  these  sins  are  venial. 

160.  Having  come  to  recognize  this,  such  people  con- 
sider it  possible  in  the  name  of  the  love  of  their  family 
not  only  to  free  themselves  from  the  demands  of  justice 
toward  other  men,  but  also,  with  the  assurance  that  they 
are  doing  right,  to  commit  the  greatest  cruelties  against 
others  for  the  good  of  their  children. 

161.  "  If  I  had  no  wife,  no  husband,  or  no  child,"  say 
people  who  have  fallen  into  this  offence,  "  I  should  be  liv- 
ing quite  differently  and  should  not  be  committing  these 
sins  ;  but  now,  in  order  to  bring  up  my  children,  I  cannot 
live  otherwise.  If  we  did  not  hve  thus,  if  we  did  not 
commit  any  sins,  the  human  race  could  not  be  con- 
tinued." 

162.  And,  having  made  such  a  reflection,  the  man 
calmly  takes  away  men's  labour,  compels  them  to  labour 
to  the  disadvantage  of  their  lives,  takes  away  the  land  from 
people,  and  —  the  most  striking  example  —  takes  away 
the  milk  from  the  child,  in  order  that  the  child's  mother 
may  nurse  his  babe,  and  does  not  see  the  evil  which  he 
is  doing.  In  this  consists  the  offence  of  family,  or  of  the 
continuation  of  the  race. 


XXIX.      THE   OFFENCE   OF   AFFAIRS 

163.  From  the  property  of  his  nature,  man  must  exer- 
cise his  mental  and  bodily  powers,  and  for  their  exercise 
he  chooses  some  work. 


400  THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

164.  But  every  work  demands  certain  acts  at  a  certain 
time,  so  that  if  these  acts  are  not  performed  at  the  given 
time,  the  work  which  is  useful  to  men  is  destroyed,  with- 
out being  of  any  use  to  any  one. 

165.  "I  have  to  finish  ploughing  the  field  with  the 
seed  sowed  in  it.  If  1  do  not  do  it,  the  seed  and  the  work 
will  be  lost,  without  being  of  any  use  to  any  one.  I  must 
finish  a  certain  work  by  a  given  time ;  if  I  do  not  finish 
it,  the  work  which  might  have  been  useful  will  be  lost  for 
nothing.  My  factory  is  running ;  it  is  producing  articles 
which  are  indispensable  to  men,  and  it  gives  the  chance 
to  work  to  tens  of  thousands  of  people ;  if  I  interrupt  the 
work,  the  articles  will  not  be  manufactured,  and  the  people 
will  be  deprived  of  work,"  say  the  men  who  have  fallen 
into  this  offence. 

166.  And  having  made  this  reflection,  a  man  not  only 
does  not  abandon  the  unfinished  ploughing,  in  order  to 
pull  his  neighbour's  horse  out  of  the  bog,  not  only  does 
not  give  up  his  work  which  is  set  for  a  certain  time,  in 
order  to  sit  a  day  at  the  bed  of  a  patient,  not  only  does 
not  stop  his  factory,  in  which  work  ruins  the  health  of 
men,  but  is  ready  to  take  advantage  of  his  neighbour's 
misfortune,  in  order  to  finish  ploughing  his  field,  is  ready 
to  take  a  man  away  from  attending  on  a  patient,  in  order  to 
be  sure  to  finish  his  work  by  a  given  time,  is  ready  to  ruin 
the  health  of  several  generations,  in  order  that  he  may 
produce  well-manufactured  articles. 

In  this  does  the  offence  of  affairs,  or  of  profit,  consist. 

XXX.      THE    OFFENCE    OF    ASSOCIATION 

167.  Placing  themselves  accidentally  or  artificially 
under  certain  identical  conditions,  men  are  prone  to  segre- 
gate themselves  with  the  men  who  are  under  the  same 
conditions,  from  all  other  men,  and  to  consider  them- 
selves obliged,  for  the  purpose  of  safeguarding  the  ad- 


THE    CURISTIAN   TEACHING  401 

vantages  of  these  men  who  are  placed  under  the  exclusive 
conditions,  to  depart  from  the  demands  of  their  reason, 
and  not  only  to  prefer  these  advantages  of  their  own 
to  those  of  others,  but  also  to  do  evil  to  men,  merely  so 
as  not  to  impair  their  loyalty  to  their  own  people. 

168.  "  Men  do  obviously  a  bad  deed,  but  they  are  our 
associates,  and  so  we  must  conceal  and  justify  their  bad 
deed.  What  is  proposed  for  me  to  do  is  bad  and 
senseless,  but  all  my  associates  have  decided  to  do 
so,  and  I  cannot  fall  behind  them.  For  strangers 
this  may  be  suffering,  a  misfortune,  but  it  will  be 
agreeable  for  us  and  for  our  association,  and  so  we  must 
act  thus." 

169.  There  are  all  kinds  of  such  associations.  Such  is 
the  association  of  two  murderers  or  thieves,  who  are  going 
out  to  do  their  work  and  consider  their  loyalty  to  their 
associates  more  obligatory  for  the  performance  of  the  deed 
which  they  have  undertaken  than  the  loyalty  to  their 
conscience,  which  condemns  their  undertaking ;  such  is 
the  association  of  pupils  of  educational  institutions,  work- 
men's societies,  regiments,  scholars,  clergymen,  kings, 
nationalities. 

170.  All  these  men  consider  the  loyalty  to  the  institu- 
tion of  their  association  more  obligatory  than  the  loyalty 
to  the  demands  of  their  conscience  in  relation  to  all  other 
men.  In  this  does  the  offence  of  association,  or  loyalty, 
consist. 

171.  The  peculiarity  of  this  offence  consists  in  this, 
that  in  its  name  are  committed  the  most  savage  and 
insensible  of  acts,  such  as  the  masquerading  in  special, 
strange  garments  and  ascribing  to  these  garments  a  spe- 
cial significance,  and  acts  of  poisoning  oneself  by  means  of 
wine  or  beer,  and  very  frequently  terribly  cruel  acts,  such 
as  fights,  duels,  murders,  and  so  forth,  in  the  name  of 
this  very  offence  which  provokes  the  enmity  of  one  class 
of  associations  against  another- 


402  •    THE    CHKISTIAN    TEACHING 


XXXI.      THE    OFFENCE    OF    STATE 

172.  Men  live  in  a  certain  social  order,  and  this  order, 
like  everything  else  in  the  world,  changes  continually  in 
proportion  as  the  consciousness  grows  in  men. 

173.  But  men,  especially  those  for  whom  the  existing 
order  is  more  advantageous  than  for  others  (and  the  exist- 
ing order  is  always  more  advantageous  to  some  than  to 
others),  think  that  the  existing  order  is  good  for  all  men, 
and  so,  in  order  to  maintain  this  good  for  all  men,  not 
only  consider  it  possible  to  violate  love  in  respect  to  some 
men,  but  also  think  it  just  and  good  to  commit  the 
greatest  malefactions  in  order  to  maintain  this  existing 
order. 

174.  Men  established  the  right  of  property,  and  some 
own  land  and  the  instruments  of  labour,  while  others  have 
neither.  This  unjust  possession  of  the  land  and  the  in- 
struments of  labour  by  certain  idle  people  is  regarded  as 
that  order  which  must  be  protected,  and  for  the  sake  of 
which  it  is  considered  right  and  good  to  lock  up  and 
punish  people  who  violate  this  order.  Similarly,  in  view 
of  the  danger  that  a  neighbouring  people  or  potentate  may 
attack  our  nation  and  conquer  and  destroy  and  cliange 
the  established  order,  it  is  considered  right  and  good,  not 
only  to  cooperate  with  the  establishment  of  the  army,  but 
also  to  be  ready  oneself  to  murder  people  of  another 
nation  and  to  proceed  against  them,  in  order  to  kill 
them. 

175.  The  peculiarity  of  this  offence  is  this,  that,  while 
in  the  name  of  those  four  first  offences  men  depart  from 
the  demands  of  their  conscience  and  commit  separate  bad 
acts,  in  the  name  of  this  offence  of  state  there  are  com- 
mitted the  most  terrible  mass  malefactions,  such  as  exe- 
cutions and  wars,  and  there  are  supported  the  most  cruel 
crimes  against  the  majority,  like  slavery  in  former  times, 
and  the  present  dispossession  of  the  workingmau's  land. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  403 

Men  would  not  be  able  to  commit  these  evil  deeds,  if 
there  were  not  invented  methods  by  means  of  which  the 
responsibility  for  the  commission  of  these  crimes  is  so 
distributed  among  men  that  no  one  feels  its  burden. 

176.  The  method  of  the  distribution  of  this  responsi- 
bility in  such  a  way  that  no  one  may  feel  the  burden 
consists  iu  this,  that  men  recognize  the  necessity  of  power 
which  for  the  good  of  subject  men  must  prescribe  these 
malefactions ;  but  the  subjects  are  obliged  to  fulfil  the 
prescriptions  of  the  power  for  the  good  of  all. 

177.  "I  am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  prescribe  the 
seizure  of  the  products  of  labour,  incarceration,  exile,  hard 
labour,  execution,  war,  that  is,  mass  murder,  but  I  am 
obliged  to  do  so,  because  this  is  demanded  of  me  by  the 
men  who  have  vested  me  with  power,"  say  the  men  who 
are  in  power.  "  If  I  take  away  men's  property,  detach 
them  from  their  families,  lock  them  up,  send  them  into 
exile,  have  them  executed,  if  I  kill  men  of  another  nation, 
ruin  them,  shoot  into  cities  upon  women  and  children,  I 
do  not  do  so  upon  my  own  responsibihty,  but  because 
I  am  doing  the  will  of  the  higher  power  whom  I  have 
promised  to  obey  for  the  common  good." 

In  this  does  the  offence  of  state,  or  of  the  common  good, 
consist. 


XXXII.      THE    CONSEQUENCES   OF   THE   OFFENCES 

178.  Sins  are  consequences  of  habits  (mertia,  animal 
life).  Animal  hfe  running  at  full  speed  cannot  stop,  even 
when  reason  has  wakened  in  man,  and  he  understands 
the  senselessness  of  the  animal  life.  Man  knows  that 
the  animal  life  is  senseless  and  cannot  do  him  any  good, 
but  from  old  habit  he  seeks  a  meaning  and  the  srood  in 
the  joys  of  the  animal  life,  —  the  gratification  of  com- 
plex artificial  needs,  in  constant  rest,  in  the  increase  of 
property,   in    dominion,    in    dissipation,    in    intoxication, 


404  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

and  uses  his  reason  for  the  purpose  of  attaining  these 
ends. 

179.  But  the  sins  punish  themselves :  very  soon  a 
man  feels  that  the  good  which  he  is  trying  to  find  on  this 
path  is  not  accessible  to  him,  and  the  sin  loses  its  attrac- 
tiveness. Thus,  if  there  did  not  exist  any  justifications 
of  sins,  —  offences,  —  men  would  not  abide  in  sins,  and 
would  not  carry  them  to  the  limit  to  which  they  have 
been  carried. 

180.  If  there  were  no  offences  of  preparation,  no  of- 
fences of  family,  no  offence  of  affairs,  no  offence  of  state, 
not  a  man,  not  even  the  most  cruel  one,  would  be  able 
among  needy  men  dying  in  want  to  make  use  of  that 
superabundance  which  now  the  rich  enjoy;  the  rich 
would  not  be  able  to  arrive  at  that  condition  of  complete 
physical  idleness,  in  which,  experiencing  ennui,  they  now 
pass  their  life,  compelling  frequently  the  old,  the  very 
young,  the  sick  to  perform  the  labour  which  they  need. 
If  there  were  no  offences  which  justify  property,  men 
could  not  senselessly  and  aimlessly  waste  all  the  forces 
of  their  lives  for  a  greater  and  ever  greater  acquisition  of 
property,  which  cannot  be  made  use  of,  and  people  who 
suffer  from  struggle  would  not  be  able  to  provoke  it  in 
others.  If  there  were  no  offence  of  association,  there 
would  not  be  even  one-hundredth  part  of  that  corruption 
which  now  exists :  people  would  not  be  able  so  obviously 
and  senselessly  to  ruin  their  bodily  and  their  mental 
forces  by  means  of  intoxicating  substances,  which  neither 
increase  nor  diminish  their  energy. 

181.  From  the  human  sins  come  the  poverty  of  some 
and  their  crushed  condition  through  labour,  and  the 
satiety  and  the  idleness  of  others;  from  the  sins  come 
the  inequality  of  possessions,  struggle,  quarrels,  lawsuits, 
punishments,  wars ;  from  the  sins  come  the  calamities  of 
men's  debauch  and  brutalization ;  but  from  the  offences 
comes  the  establishment,  the  sauctification  of  all  this,  — 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  405 

the  legalization  of  poverty  and  of  the  crushed  condition 
of  some,  and  of  the  satiety  and  the  idleness  of  others,  the 
legalization  of  violence,  of  murders,  wars,  debauch,  intoxi- 
cation, and  their  expansion  to  those  terrible  dimensions 
which  they  now  have  reached. 


PART    THE    FOURTH 

THE   DECEPTIONS   OF   EAITH   AND   THE 
LIBEKATION   FROM   IT 

XXXIII.      THE    DECEPTIONS    OF   FAITH 

182.  If  there  were  no  offences,  people  could  not  con- 
tinue to  live  in  sins,  since  every  sin  punishes  itself :  the 
men  of  the  former  generations  would  show  to  posterity 
the  perniciousness  of  sin,  and  the  subsequent  generations 
would  be  educated  without  falling  into  the  habit  of 
sin. 

183.  But  man  has  used  the  intellect  which  is  given 
him  not  for  the  purpose  of  finding  out  sin  and  freeing 
himself  from  it,  but  of  justifying  it,  and  so  there  appeared 
the  offence,  and  sin  became  legitimized  and  took  root. 

184.  But  how  could  man  with  awakened  reason  recog- 
nize the  lie  as  truth  ?  In  order  that  a  man  may  be  able 
not  to  see  the  lie  and  take  it  for  truth,  his  reason  must  be 
distorted,  because  the  uncorrupted  reason  faultlessly  dis- 
tinguishes the  lie  from  the  truth,  wherein,  indeed,  its 
destination  consists. 

185.  Indeed,  men's  reason,  as  educated  in  human 
society,  is  never  free  from  corruption.  Every  man  who 
is  educated  in  human  society  is  inevitably  subject  to 
corruption,  which  consists  in  the  deception  of  faith. 

186.  The  deception  of  faith  consists  in  this,  that  the 

men  of  former  generations  by  means  of  all  kinds  of  arti- 

407 


408  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

ficial  methods  impress  upon  the  subsequent  generations 
the  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  Ufe,  which  is  not 
based  on  reason,  but  on  blind  faith. 

187.  The  essence  of  the  deception  of  faith  consists  in 
this,  that  men  intentionally  confound  the  concepts  of  faith 
and  trust,  and  substitute  one  for  'the  other :  they  assert 
that  men  cannot  live  and  think  without  faith,  which  is 
quite  correct,  and  in  the  place  of  faith,  that  is,  the  recog- 
nition of  the  existence  of  what  is  cognized,  but  cannot  be 
defined  by  reason,  such  as  God,  soul,  goodness,  they  put 
the  concept  of  trust  in  the  existence  of  God,  namely,  such 
and  such  a  one  in  three  persons,  who  at  such  and  such  a 
time  created  the  world  and  revealed  this  or  that  to  men, 
in  such  a  place  and  at  such  a  time  and  through  such  and 
such  prophets. 

XXXIV.      THE    ORIGIN   OF   THE   DECEPTIONS    OF   FAITH 

188.  Humanity  moves  slowly,  but  without  cessation, 
onward,  that  is,  toward  a  greater  and  ever  greater  clear- 
ness of  the  consciousness  of  the  truth  concerning  the 
meaning  and  significance  of  its  life,  and  toward  the  estab- 
lishment of  life  in  conformity  with  this  clearer  conscious- 
ness. And  thus  men's  comprehension  of  life  and  men's 
life  itself  constantly  change.  Men  who  are  more  sensi- 
tive for  truth  understand  life  in  conformity  with  that 
higher  light  that  has  appeared  in  them,  and  arrange  their 
life  in  conformity  with  this  light ;  men  who  are  less  sen- 
sitive stick  to  the  former  comprehension  of  life  and  the 
former  structure  of  hfe,  and  try  to  defend  it; 

189.  Thus  there  are  always  in  the  world,  by  the  side 
of  men  who  point  out  the  advanced  and  last  expression 
of  the  truth  and  try  to  live  in  accordance  with  this 
expression  of  truth,  other  men  who  defend  the  older, 
obsolete,  and  now  useless  comprehension  of  it  and  the 
former  orders  of  life. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  409 

XXXV.      IN    WHAT    WAY    THE    DECEPTIONS    OF   FAITH 
ARE    COMMITTED 

190.  Truth  does  not  need  any  external  confirmation 
and  is  freely  accepted  by  all  those  to  whom  it  is  com- 
municated, but  deception  demands  special  methods,  by 
means  of  which  it  may  be  communicated  to  men  and 
adopted  by  them;  and  so  to  practise  the  deception  of 
faith,  one  and  the  same  methods  are  employed  among  all 
nations  by  those  who  practise  them. 

191.  There  are  five  such  methods:  (1)  the  misinterpre- 
tation of  the  truth,  (2)  the  belief  in  the  miraculous, 
(3)  the  establishment  of  a  mediation  between  man  and 
God,  (4)  the  affecting  of  man's  external  sensations,  and 
(5)  the  impression  of  a  false  faith  upon  children. 

192.  The  essence  of  the  first  method  of  the  deception 
of  faith  consists  not  only  in  recognizing  in  words  the  cor- 
rectness of  the  truth  as  revealed  to  men  by  the  last 
preachers,  but  also  in  recognizing  the  preacher  himself 
as  a  holy,  supernatural  person  and  in  deifying  him,  by 
ascribing  to  him  the  performance  of  various  miracles,  and 
in  concealing  the  essence  itself  of  the  revealed  truth  in 
such  a  way  that  it  may  not  only  not  violate  the  former 
comprehension  of  life  and  the  order  of  life  as  established 
according  to  it,  but  may  also,  on  the  contrary,  confirm  it. 

Such  a  misinterpretation  of  truth  and  deification  of  the 
preachers  has  taken  place  with  all  nations,  at  every 
appearance  of  a  new  rehgious  teaching.  Thus  was  the 
teaching  of  Moses  and  of  the  Jewish  prophets  misinter- 
preted. And  it  was  for  this  very  misinterpretation  that 
Christ  rebuked  the  Pharisees,  telling  them  that  they  were 
sitting  in  the  seat  of  Moses  and  themselves  did  not  enter 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  did  not  let  others  in.  Similarly 
were  the  teachings  of  Buddha,  Lao-tse,  and  Zarathustra 
misinterpreted.  A  similar  misinterpretation  was  intro- 
duced into  the  Christian  teaching  in  the  first  period  of 


410  THE    CHEISTIAN    TEACHING 

its  acceptation  by  Constantine,  when  the  pagan  temples 
and  divinities  were  changed  into  Christian  ones  and  there 
arose  Mohammedanism,  as  a  protest  against  the  apparent 
Christian  polytheism.  To  a  similar  misinterpretation  has 
Mohammedanism  also  been  subjected. 

193.  The  second  method  of  the  deception  of  faith  con- 
sists in  impressing  people  with  the  idea  that,  in  the 
cognition  of  the  truth,  to  follow  our  God-given  reason  is 
a  sin  of  pride;  that  there  exists  another,  more  reliable 
instrument  of  cognition,  the  revelation  of  the  truth,  which 
is  communicated  by  God  to  men  with  certain  signs  and 
miracles,  that  is,  supernatural  events  which  confirm  the 
correctness  of  the  transmission.  Men  are  impressed  with 
the  idea  that  it  is  necessary  to  believe,  not  in  reason,  but 
in  miracles,  that  is,  in  what  is  contrary  to  reason. 

194.  The  third  method  of  the  deception  of  faith  con- 
sists in  assuring  men  that  they  cannot  have  that  imme- 
diate relation  with  God  wliich  is  felt  by  every  man,  and 
which  was  especially  elucidated  by  Christ  when  He 
recognized  man  as  the  son  of  God,  and  that  for  man's 
communion  with  God  there  is  needed  a  mediator  or 
mediators.  As  such  mediators  they  proclaim  prophets, 
saints,  the  church,  the  Scriptures,  hermits,  dervishes, 
lamas,  Buddhas,  anchorites,  every  clergy.  However 
different  all  these  mediators  may  be,  the  essence  of  the 
mediation  is  this,  that  between  man  and  God  no  direct 
connection  is  admitted,  but  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  assumed 
that  the  truth  is  not  directly  accessible  to  man,  and  can 
be  received  only  through  faith  in  the  mediators  between 
him  and  God. 

195.  The  fourth  method  of  the  deception  of  faith 
consists  in  this,  that  under  the  pretext  of  accomplishing 
certain  works  persumably  demanded  by  God,  —  prayers, 
sacraments,  sacrifices,  —  they  collect  a  large  number  of 
men  and,  subjecting  them  to  various  stupefying  influences, 
impress   lies  upon   them,   pretending  that   they   are  the 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  411 

trutlL  Men  are  impressed  by  the  beauty  and  grandeur 
of  the  temples,  the  magnificence  of  the  adornments,  by 
the  utensils,  the  garments,  the  brilliancy  of  the  illumina- 
tion, the  sounds  of  singing,  the  organs,  the  incense,  the 
exclamations,  the  performances,  and  whde  men  are  under 
tliis  spell,  the  deception,  given  out  as  the  truth,  is  forced 
upon  their  souls. 

196.  The  fifth  method  is  the  most  cruel,  since  it  con- 
sists in  telling  to  a  child,  when  he  asks  his  elders  who 
lived  before  him  and  had  a  chance  to  find  out  the  wisdom 
of  the  men  who  had  lived  before,  as  to  what  this  world 
and  its  life  is  and  what  the  relations  between  the  two 
are,  not  what  these  elders  think  and  know,  but  what  the 
men  who  lived  thousands  of  years  before  knew  and  what 
none  of  his  elders  now  believe  in,  nor  are  able  to  beheve 
in.  Instead  of  the  spiritual  food,  which  is  indispensable 
to  him,  and  for  which  he  asks,  the  child  is  given  a  poison 
which  ruins  his  spiritual  health,  and  from  which  he  can 
be  cured  only  by  the  greatest  efforts  and  sufferings. 

197.  Awakening  to  the  conscious  life  with  a  clear, 
unpolluted  reason,  ready  to  receive  and  in  the  depth  of 
his  soul,  though  only  dimly,  conscious  of  the  truth  of  life, 
that  is,  of  his  position  and  his  mission  in  life  (the  human 
soul  is  by  its  nature  a  Christian,  says  Tertulhan,  a  father 
of  the  church),  the  child  asks  his  older  parent  what 
life  is,  what  his  relation  to  the  world  and  his  beginning 
is,  —  and  his  father,  or  teacher,  does  not  tell  him  that 
little  which  he  knows  unquestionably  of  the  meaning 
of  life,  but  with  assurance  tells  him  what  in  the  depth  of 
his  soul  he  does  not  regard  as  true :  he  tells  him,  if  he 
is  a  Jew,  that  God  created  the  world  in  six  days  and 
revealed  all  the  truth  to  Moses,  writing  with  his  finger  on 
a  stone  that  it  is  necessary  to  keep  oaths,  remember  the 
Sabbath,  be  circumcized,  and  so  forth ;  if  he  is  a  Greek- 
Catholic,  a  Eoman-Catholic,  a  Protestant  Christian,  —  that 
Christ,  the  second  person,  created  the  world  and  came 


412  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

down  upon  earth,  in  order  to  redeem  Adam's  sin  with 
his  blood,  and  so  forth ;  if  he  is  a  Buddhist,  —  that 
Buddha  flew  to  heaven  and  taught  men  to  destroy  hfe  in 
themselves ;  if  he  is  a  Mohammedan,  that  Mohammed 
flew  to  the  seventh  heaven  and  there  learned  the  law 
according  to  which  the  belief  in  the  fivefold  prayer  and 
the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  give  men  paradise  in  the  future 
life. 

198.  Knowing  that  other  men  impress  something  else 
upon  their  children,  parents  and  teachers  communicate 
each  his  own  special  superstition  to  them,  though  he 
knows  in  the  depth  of  his  soul  that  it  is  only  a  super- 
stition, —  he  communicates  it  to  innocent,  trustful  children 
at  an  age  when  the  impressions  are  so  strong  that  they 
are  never  again  eradicated. 

XXXVI.       THE    EVIL    DUE    TO   THE    DECEPTION    OF   FAITH 

199.  The  sins,  by  causing  man  at  times  to  commit  acts 
which  are  contrary  to  his  spiritual  nature,  contrary  to  love, 
retard  his  birth  to  the  new,  true  life. 

200.  The  offences  lead  man  into  a  sinful  life,  by  justi- 
fying the  sins,  so  that  a  man  does  not  commit  separate 
sinful  acts,  but  lives  an  animal  Hfe,  without  seeing  the 
contradiction  of  this  life  with  the  true  life. 

201.  Such  a  position  on  the  part  of  a  man  is  possible 
only  with  the  distortion  of  truth,  which  is  achieved  by 
the  deception  of  faith.  Only  a  man  with  his  reason 
distorted  by  the  deception  of  faith  can  fail  to  see  the  lie 
of  the  offences. 

202.  And  so  the  deception  of  faith  is  the  foundation 
of  all  the  sins  and  calamities  of  man. 

203.  The  deceptions  of  faith  are  that  which  in  the 
Gospel  is  called  blasphemy  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  and 
of  which  it  says  that  this  action  cannot  be  forgiven,  that 
is,  that  it  cannot  help  but  be  disastrous  in  any  life. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  413 


XXXVII.      WHAT   MUST   A   MAN   DO,   TO    LIVE   ACCORDING 

TO  cheist's  teaching? 

204.  To  live  according  to  Christ's  teaching,  a  man 
must  destroy  the  obstacles  which  interfere  with  the  true 
life,  that  is,  with  the  manifestation  of  love. 

205.  The  sins  form  obstacles  to  them.  But  the  sins 
cannot  be  destroyed,  so  long  as  a  man  does  not  free  him- 
self from  the  offences.  And  only  a  man  who  is  free  from 
the  deceptions  of  faith  can  free  himself  from  the  offences. 

206.  And  so,  in  order  to  live  according  to  Christ's 
teaching,  a  man  must  first  of  all  free  himself  from  the 
deceptions  of  faith. 

207.  Only  after  a  man  has  freed  himself  from  the 
deceptions  of  faith,  can  he  free  himself  from  the  lie  of 
the  offences ;  and  only  after  he  has  found  out  the  lie  of  the 
offences,  can  he  free  himself  from  sins. 

xxxviii.     the  liberation  from  the  deceptions  of 

faith 

208.  To  free  himself  from  the  deceptions  of  faith  in 
general,  a  man  must  understand  and  remember  that  the 
only  instrument  of  cognition  which  he  possesses  is  his 
reason,  and  that  therefore  every  sermon  which  asserts 
something  contrary  to  reason  is  a  deception,  an  attempt 
at  removing  the  only  instrument  of  cognition  given  him 
by  God. 

209.  To  be  free  from  the  deceptions  of  faith,  a  man 
must  understand  and  remember  that  he  has  no  other 
instrument  of  cognition  than  reason,  —  that,  whether 
he  wants  it  or  not,  every  man  believes  only  in  reason, 
and  that  therefore  the  men  who  say  that  they  do  not 
believe  in  reason,  but  in  Moses,  Buddha,  Christ,  Moham- 
med, the  church,  the  Koran,  the  Bible,  are  deceiving 
themselves,  because,  no  matter  what  they  may  believe  in, 


414  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

they  do  not  believe  in  him  who  transmitted  to  them  those 
truths  in  which  they  believe,  —  iu  Moses,  Buddha,  Christ, 
the  Bible,  —  but  in  reason,  which  tells  them  that  they 
should  believe  in  Moses,  in  Christ,  in  the  Bible,  and 
must  not  beheve  in  Buddha,  Mohammed,  the  Koran, 
and  vice  versa. 

210.  Truth  cannot  enter  man  in  spite  of  reason,  and  so 
a  man  who  thinks  that  he  cognizes  truths  through  faith, 
and  not  through  reason,  only  deceives  himself  and  employs 
his  reason  irregularly  for  what  it  is  not  destined  for,  —  for 
the  solution  of  questions  as  to  who  of  those  who  transmit 
the  teachings  which  are  given  out  as  truth  is  to  be  believed, 
and  who  not.  But  reason  is  not  destined  for  the  purpose 
of  deciding  who  is  to  be  beheved,  and  who  not,  —  that  it 
cannot  decide,  —  but  for  the  purpose  of  verifying  the  cor- 
rectness of  what  is  proposed  to  it.  That  it  always  can  do, 
and  for  that  it  is  destined. 

211.  The  false  interpreters  of  truth  generally  say  that 
reason  cannot  be  believed,  because  the  reason  of  different 
people  affirms  different  things,  and  because  for  this  reason 
it  is  better  for  the  union  of  men  to  believe  in  a  revela- 
tion which  is  confirmed  by  miracles.  But  such  an  asser- 
tion is  directly  opposed  to  truth.  Eeason  never  asserts 
different  things;  it  always  and  in  all  men  asserts  and 
denies  the  same. 

212.  It  is  only  the  faiths  which  assert,  —  one,  that  God 
revealed  himself  on  Sinai,  and  that  He  is  the  God  of  the 
Jews ;  another,  that  God  is  Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva ;  a 
third,  that  God  is  the  Trinity,  —  the  Father,  the  Son,  and 
the  Holy  Ghost ;  a  fourth,  that  God  is  heaven  and  earth  ; 
a  fifth,  that  trutli  was  all  revealed  by  Buddha ;  a  sixth, 
that  it  was  all  revealed  by  Mohammed ;  —  only  these 
faiths  divide  men,  but  reason,  whether  it  be  the  reason  of 
a  Jew,  a  Japanese,  a  Chinaman,  an  Arab,  an  Englishman, 
a  Russian,  always  and  in  all  men  tells  one  and  the  same 
thing. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  415 

2 1 3.  When  people  say  that  reason  may  deceive,  and  in 
confirmation  adduce  discordant  assertions  of  various  men 
as  to  there  being  a  God,  and  how  he  ought  to  be  served, 
those  who  say  this  make  an  intentional  or  an  uninten- 
tional mistake,  in  that  they  confuse  reason  with  con- 
siderations and  inventions.  Considerations  and  inventions 
can  actually  be  and  generally  are  diversified  and  different, 
but  the  decrees  of  reason  are  always  the  same  for  all  men 
and  at  all  times.  Eeflections  and  inventions  as  to  how 
the  world  or  sin  originated,  or  what  will  happen  after 
death,  may  be  infinitely  varied,  but  the  decrees  of  reason 
as  to  whether  it  is  true  that  three  gods  make  one,  whether 
a  man  died  and  then  rose  again,  whether  a  man  walked 
on  the  water  or  flew  bodily  into  heaven,  whether  in  swal- 
lowing bread  and  wine  I  am  eating  a  body  and  blood,  — ' 
the  decrees  of  reason  in  regard  to  these  questions  are 
always  one  and  the  same  for  all  men  and  in  the  whole 
world,  and  are  always  indubitable  and  true.  Whether  men 
say  that  God  walked  in  a  pillar  of  fire,  or  whether  Buddha 
rose  on  the  sunbeams,  or  whether  Mohammed  flew  into 
heaven,  or  whether  Christ  walked  on  the  water,  and  so 
forth,  the  reason  of  all  men  always  and  everywhere  replies 
one  and  the  same  thing :  "  It  is  not  true."  But  to  the 
questions  as  to  whether  it  is  right  to  treat  others  as  you 
wish  to  be  treated,  whether  it  is  good  to  love  men  and 
forgive  them  their  offences  and  be  merciful,  the  reason  of 
all  men  at  all  times  has  said :  "  Yes,  it  is  right,  it  is 
good." 

214.  And  so,  not  to  fall  into  the  deceptions  of  faith, 
a  man  must  understand  and  remember  that  truth  is  re- 
vealed to  him  only  in  his  reason,  given  him  by  God  for 
the  purpose  of  learning  the  will  of  God,  and  that  the  dis- 
couragement of  confidence  in  reason  has  for  its  basis  the 
desire  of  deceiving,  and  is  the  greatest  blasphemy. 

215.  Such  is  the  general  means  for  freeing  oneself  from 
the  deceptions  of  faith.    But  to  be  free  from  the  deceptions 


416  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

of  faith,  it  is  necessary  to  know  all  the  forms  of  these 

deceptions  and    to   beware   of    them,  —  to    counteract 
them. 


XXXIX.      THE   LIBEKATION   FROM  THE   DECEPTION  OF  FAITH, 
INSPIRED    FROM    CHILDHOOD 

216.  In  t)rder  that  a  man  may  live  according  to  Christ's 
teaching,  he  must  first  of  all  free  himself  from  the  decep- 
tion of  the  faith  in  which  he  was  brought  up,  —  no  matter 
whether  this  is  a  deception  of  the  Jewish,  Buddhistic, 
Japanese,  Confucian,  or  Christian  faith. 

217.  But  in  order  to  be  freed  from  the  deceptions  of 
faith,  in  which  a  man  is  brought  up  from  childhood,  he 
must  understand  and  remember  that  reason  is  given  to 
him  directly  from  God,  and  that  God  alone  can  unite  all 
men,  while  human  traditions  do  not  unite,  but  divide  men, 
and  so  he  must  not  only  not  be  afraid  of  doubts  and  ques- 
tions, which  are  evoked  by  reason  in  the  verification  of 
beliefs  impressed  upon  him  from  childhood,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  must  carefully  subject  to  analysis  and  com- 
parison with  other  beliefs  all  those  behefs  which  were 
handed  down  to  him  from  childhood,  accepting  as  correct 
only  what  does  not  contradict  reason,  no  matter  how 
solemnly  circumstanced  and  anciently  transmitted  the 
tradition  may  be. 

218.  Having  subjected  the  beliefs  impressed  upon  him 
from  childhood  to  the  tribunal  of  reason,  a  man  who 
wishes  to  free  himself  from  the  deceptions  of  faith, 
impressed  upon  him  from  childhood,  must  boldly  and 
without  finding  any  excuses  reject  everything  which  is 
contrary  to  reason  and  cannot  be  true. 

219.  Having  freed  himself  from  the  deception  of  faith, 
impressed  upon  him  from  childhood,  a  man  who  wants  to 
live  according  to  Christ's  teaching  must  not  only  by 
word,  example,  and  reticence  keep  from  aiding  in  the 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  417 

deception  of  the  children,  but  also  with  all  his  means 
dispel  this  deception,  according  to  the  words  of  Christ, 
who  pitied  the  children  on  account  of  the  deceptions  to 
which  they  are  subjected. 

XL.      THE     LIBERATION    FROM     THE    DECEPTION     OF     FAITH, 
PRODUCED    THROUGH    THE    APPEAL    TO    THE    EXTERNAL 

SENSES 

220.  Having  freed  himself  from  the  deception  of  faith, 
impressed  upon  him  from  childhood,  a  man  must  beware 
of  the  deception  produced  by  the  deceivers  of  all  nations 
by  means  of  the  appeal  to  the  external  senses. 

221.  In  order  not  to  fall  into  this  deception,  a  man 
must  understand  and  remember  that  truth  for  its  dissem- 
ination and  adoption  by  men  does  not  need  any  appli- 
ances and  adornments  ;  that  it  is  only  the  lie  and  the 
deception  that  need  special  conditions  for  their  transmis- 
sion, in  order  to  be  accepted  by  men,  and  that  therefore 
all  solemn  services,  processions,  adornments,  incense,  sing- 
ing, and  so  forth,  not  only  do  not  serve  as  signs  of  the 
fact  that  the  truth  is  being  communicated  under  these 
conditions,  but,  on  the  contrary,  serve  as  a  sure  sign  that 
where  these  means  are  used,  it  is  not  the  truth,  but  a  lie, 
that  is  being  communicated. 

222.  In  order  not  to  fall  into  the  deception  of  the 
appeal  to  the  external  senses,  a  man  must  remember 
the  words  of  Christ,  that  God  is  not  to  be  served  in  some 
particular  place,  but  in  the  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  that 
he  who  wants  to  pray  must  not  go  into  a  temple,  but 
shut  himself  up  in  the  privacy  of  his  room,  knowing  that 
every  magnificence  in  divine  service  has  for  its  aim  decep- 
tion, which  is  the  more  cruel,  the  more  magnificent  the 
service  is,  and  so  he  must  not  only  refrain  from  partaking 
himself  in  the  stupefying  divine  services,  but  also  wherever 
possible  must  disclose  their  deception. 


418  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

XLI.      THE   LIBEEATION   FEOM    THE    DECEPTION   OF 

MEDIATION 

223.  Having  freed  himself  also  from  the  second  decep- 
tion of  the  appeal  to  the  external  senses,  a  man  must  also 
beware  of  the  deception  of  mediation  between  man  and 
God,  which,  if  he  admits  it  at  all,  is  sure  to  conceal  the 
truth  from  him. 

224.  In  order  not  to  fall  into  this  deception,  a  man 
must  understand  and  remember  that  God  is  only  directly 
revealed  to  man's  heart,  and  that  every  mediation,  be  it 
one  person,  a  collection  of  persons,  a  book,  or  a  tradition, 
not  only  conceals  God  from  man,  but  also  commits  the 
greatest  evil  which  can  befall  a  man,  namely,  causes  him 
to  regard  as  God  what  is  not  God. 

225.  The  moment  a  man  admits  the  faith  in  any  medi- 
ation, he  deprives  himself  of  the  one  possibility  of  the  cer- 
tainty of  knowledge  and  opens  up  the  possibility  of  the 
reception  of  any  he  instead  of  the  truth. 

226.  Only  thanks  to  the  mediation  of  men  could  there 
be  practised,  and  are  there  practised,  those  deceptions  in 
consequence  of  which  sensible  and  good  men  pray  to 
God,  Christ,  the  Virgin,  Buddha,  Mohammed,  the  saints, 
the  relics,  the  images. 

227.  In  order  not  to  fall  into  this  deception,  a  man 
must  understand  and  remember  that  truth  was  revealed 
to  him  first  of  all  and  more  correctly,  not  in  a  book,  not 
in  tradition,  not  in  any  assembly  of  men,  but  in  his  own 
heart  and  in  reason,  even  as  Moses  said,  when  he  informed 
the  people  that  the  law  of  God  was  not  to  be  sought  be- 
yond the  sea,  nor  in  heaven,  but  in  their  hearts,  and  as 
Christ  said  to  the  Jews :  "  You  do  not  know  the  truth, 
because  you  believe  in  the  traditions  of  men,  and  not  in 
Him  whom  He  sent."  But  what  God  has  sent  into  us  is 
reason,  —  the  one  infallible  instrument  of  cognition,  which 
is  given  us. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  419 

228.  Not  to  fall  into  the  deception  of  mediation,  a  man 
must  understand  and  remember  that  truth  can  never  be 
revealed  altogether,  and  that  it  is  gradually  revealed  to  men, 
and  only  to  those  who  seek  it,  and  not  to  those  who,  believ- 
ing in  what  the  infallible  mediators  communicate  to  them, 
think  that  they  possess  it,  and  so,  to  keep  from  subjecting 
himself  to  the  danger  of  falling  into  the  most  terrible 
errors,  a  man  must  not  acknowledge  any  one  as  an  in- 
fallible teacher,  but  must  seek  the  truth  anywhere,  in  all 
the  human  traditions,  verifying  them  with  his  reason. 

XLII.      THE    LIBERATION   FROM    THE    BELIEF   IN 
MIRACLES 

229.  But  even  having  freed  himself  from  the  decep- 
tion impressed  upon  him  from  childhood,  and  not  sur- 
rendering himself  to  the  deception  of  impressing  the  lie 
by  means  of  solemnity,  and  not  recognizing  any  mediation 
between  himself  and  God,  a  man  will  still  not  be  free  from 
the  deception  of  faith  and  will  be  unable  to  know  Christ's 
teaching,  if  he  shall  not  free  himself  of  the  belief  in  the 
supernatural,  the  miraculous. 

230.  They  say  that  miracles,  that  is,  the  supernatural, 
take  place  for  the  purpose  of  uniting  men,  whereas  there 
is  nothing  which  so  disunites  men  as  miracles,  because 
each  faith  asserts  its  own  miracles  and  rejects  those  of  all 
the  others.  Nor  can  it  be  otherwise :  miracles,  that  is, 
the  supernatural,  are  infinitely  varied ;  only  the  natural 
is  always  and  everywhere  the  same. 

231.  And  so,  to  be  free  from  the  deceptions  of  belief  in 
the  miraculous,  a  man  must  recognize  as  true  only  what  is 
natural,  that  is,  in  accord  with  his  reason,  and  must  recog- 
nize as  a  lie  everything  which  is  unnatural,  that  is,  which 
contradicts  reason,  knowing  that  everything  which  gives 
itself  out  as  such  is  human  deception,  such  as  are  the 
deceptions  of  all   modern   miracles,  cures,  resurrections. 


420  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

miracle-working     images,  relics,     transubstantiation     of 

bread  and  wine,  and   so  forth,  as   also   of  the   miracles 

which  are   mentioned   in  the   Bible,  in   the   gospels,  in 

Buddhist,  Mohammedan,  Taoist,  and  other  books. 


XLIII.      LIBERATION    FROM    THE    DECEPTIONS    OF   THE 
FAITH    IN    FALSE    INTERPRETATIONS 

232.  Having  freed  himself  from  the  deception  of  medi- 
ation, a  man  must  free  himself  from  the  deception  of  the 
false  interpretation  of  truth. 

233.  No  matter  in  what  faith  a  man  may  have  been 
educated,  whether  in  the  Mohammedan,  Christian,  Bud- 
dhistic, Jewish,  or  Confucian,  he  will  in  every  doctrine  of 
faith  find  an  assertion  of  indubitable  truth,  which  is  rec- 
ognized by  his  reason,  and  side  by  side  with  it  assertions 

.  contrary  to  reason,  which  are  given  out  as  equally  deserv- 
ing faith. 

234.  In  order  to  free  himself  from  this  deception  of 
faith,  a  man  must  not  be  discouraged  because  the  truths 
which  are  recognized  by  his  reason  and  those  which  are 
not  recognized  by  it  are  given  out  as  equally  deserving 
faith  on  account  of  their  common  origin,  and  as  though 
inseparably  connected,  but  must  understand  and  remem- 
ber that  every  revelation  of  the  truth  to  men  (that  is, 
every  comprehension  of  the  truth  by  one  of  the  advanced 
men)  has  always  so  startled  people  that  it  has  been 
clothed  in  a  supernatural  form,  that  to  every  manifesta- 
tion of  truth  there  have  inevitably  been  added  supersti- 
tious, and  that,  therefore,  for  the  knowledge  of  truth  it  is 
not  necessary  to  accept  everything,  but  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, we  are  obhged  in  what  is  transmitted  to  us  to 
separate  the  lie  and  the  invention  from  the  truth  and 
reality. 

235.  Having  separated  the  truth  from  the  supersti- 
tions which  are  admixed,  let  each  man  understand  and 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACniNG  421 

remember  that  the  superstitions  which  are  admixed  with 
truth  not  only  are  not  as  sacred  as  truth  itself,  as  is 
preached  by  the  men  who  find  their  advantage  in  these 
superstitions,  but,  on  the  contrary,  form  a  most  perni- 
cious and  harmful  phenomenon,  which  conceals  the  truth, 
and  for  the  destruction  of  which  a  man  must  employ  all 
his  forces. 


PART   THE    FIFTH 

LIBERATION    FROM   THE   OFFENCES 

XLIV.      HOW   CAN   WE    AVOID   THE    OFFENCES  ? 

236.  Having  freed  himself  from  the  deceptions  of 
faith,  a  man  would  be  capable  of  receiving  Christ's  teach- 
ing, if  there  were  no  offences.  But  even  when  he  is  free 
from  the  deceptions  of  faith  and  understands  the  meaning 
of  Christ's  teaching,  a  man  always  finds  himself  in  danger 
of  falling  into  the  offences. 

237.  The  essence  of  all  the  offences  consists  in  this, 
that  a  man  who  has  wakened  to  consciousness,  feehng  the 
doubling  and  suffering  from  a  crime  committed,  wants  to 
destroy  the  doubling  and  the  suffering  arising  from  it,  not 
through  a  struggle  with  sin,  but  through  its  justification. 

238.  But  the  justification  of  a  sin  can  be  nothing  but 
a  lie. 

239.  And  so,  in  order  not  to  fall  into  an  offence,  a  man 
must  first  of  all  not  be  afraid  to  recognize  the  truth, 
knowing  that  such  an  acknowledgment  cannot  remove 
him  from  the  good,  whereas  the  opposite,  the  lie,  is  the 
chief  source  of  sin  and  of  a  departure  from  the  good. 

240.  Thus,  in  order  to  avoid  the  offences,  a  man  must, 
above  all  else,  not  lie,  and,  above  all,  not  lie  to  himself, 
and  not  so  much  take  care  lest  he  lie  to  others,  as  lest  he 
lie  to  himself,  concealing  from  himself  the  aims  of  his 
acts. 

241.  Not  to  fall  into  the  offences  and  the  habit  of  sin- 

423 


424  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

ning  and  destroying,  which  result  from  these  offences,  a 
man  must  not  be  afraid  to  repent  of  his  sins,  knowing 
that  repentance  is  the  only  means  for  the  liberation  from 
sins  and  the  resulting  calamities. 

242.  Such  is  the  one  common  means  for  keeping  from 
falling  into  the  offences  in  general.  To  be  able  to  avoid 
every  offence  in  particular,  it  is  necessary  to  understand 
clearly  in  what  their  lie  and  their  harm  consist. 

XLV.   THE  LIE  OF  THE  OFFENCE  OF  PREPAKATION  (THE 
PERSONAL  OFFENCE) 

243.  The  first  and  most  common  offence  which  takes 
possession  of  a  man  is  the  personal  offence,  the  offence  of 
the  preparation  for  life,  instead  of  life  itself.  If  a  man 
does  not  invent  this  justification  of  his  sins,  he  always 
finds  this  justification  to  have  been  invented  by  men  who 
lived  before  him. 

244.  "  Now  I  can  for  a  time  depart  from  what  is 
proper  and  what  my  spiritual  nature  demands  of  me, 
because  I  am  not  ready,"  a  man  says  to  himself.  "  As 
soon  as  I  am  prepared,  there  will  come  a  time  when  I  shall 
begin  to  live  entirely  in  conformity  with  my  conscience." 

245.  The  lie  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that  a  man 
departs  from  the  life  in  the  present,  from  the  one  actual 
life,  and  transfers  it  into  the  future,  whereas  the  future 
does  not  belong  to  man. 

246.  The  lie  of  this  offence  has  this  feature,  that,  if  a 
man  foresees  the  morrow,  he  must  also  be  able  to  foresee 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  what  comes  later,  and  later. 
And  if  he  foresees  all  this,  he  also  foresees  his  inevitable 
death.  If  he  foresees  his  inevitable  death,  he  cannot  pre- 
pare himself  for  the  future  in  this  finite  life,  because 
death  destroys  the  meaning  of  all  that  for  which  a  man 
prepares  himself  in  this  life.  Having  given  full  sway  to 
his  reason,  a  man  cannot  help  but  see  that  the  life  of  his 


THE    CtlRISTlAN   TEACHING  425 

separate  existence  has  no  meaning,  and  so  it  is  impossible 
to  prepare  anything  for  this  existence. 

247.  On  the  other  hand,  the  lie  of  this  offence  may  be 
seen  in  this,  that  a  man  cannot  prepare  himself  for  a 
future  manifestation  of  love  and  service  of  God :  a  man 
is  not  an  instrument  wliich  another  employs.  It  is  pos- 
sible to  grind  an  axe  and  not  get  any  time  to  cut  with  it, 
and  for  another  man  to  make  use  of  it ;  but  no  one  can 
use  a  man,  except  he  himself,  because  he  himself  is  an 
instrument  which  is  always  at  work  and  which  perfects 
itself  at'  work. 

248.  The  harm  of  this  offence  is  this,  that  a  man  who 
has  fallen  into  it  not  only  fails  to  live  the  true  Mfe,  but 
even  does  not  live  a  temporal  life  in  the  present,  and 
transfers  his  life  into  the  future,  which  never  comes. 
Thinking  of  perfecting  himself  for  the  future,  a  man 
omits  the  one,  ever  present  perfection  in  love,  which  can 
be  only  in  the  present. 

249.  Not  to  faU  into  this  offence,  a  man  must  under- 
stand and  remember  that  there  is  no  time  for  preparation  ; 
that  he  must  live  in  the  best  manner  possible  this  very 
moment,  just  such  as  he  is ;  that  the  perfection  which  he 
needs  is  no  other  than  the  perfection  in  love,  and  this 
perfection  is  accomphshed  only  in  the  present. 

250.  And  so  he  must  without  delay  live  each  minute 
with  all  his  strength  in  the  present,  for  God,  that  is,  for 
all  those  who  make  demands  on  his  life,  knowing  that  he 
may  any  moment  be  deprived  of  the  possibility  of  this 
ministration,  and  that  he  came  into  the  world  for  pre- 
cisely this  hourly  ministration. 

XLVI.      THE   LIE   AND   THE    HARM   OF   THE   OFFENCE   OF 

AFFAIRS 

251.  Every  man  who  busies  himself  with  some  affair 
is  involuntarily  carried  away  by  it,  and  it  appears  to  him 


426  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

that  for  the  sake  of  his  business  he  is  unable  to  do  what 
his  conscience,  that  is,  God,  demands  of  him. 

252.  The  he  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that  every 
human  affair  may  prove  useless,  be  interrupted,  and  re- 
main unfinished  ;  but  God's  business  as  accomplished  by 
man,  the  fulfilment  of  God's  will,  can  never  be  useless 
and  cannot  be  interrupted  by  anything. 

253.  The  harm  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that,  by 
admitting  that  a  certain  business  —  be  it  the  harrowing 
in  of  sown  seeds  or  the  emancipation  of  a  whole  people 
from  slavery  —  is  more  important  than  God's  business, 
which  to  human  judgment  is  frequently  the  most  insig- 
nificant, that  is,  more  important  than  immediate  aid  and 
ministration  to  one's  neighbour,  there  will  always  be  found 
some  matters  which  must  be  looked  after  before  comply- 
ing with  the  demand  of  God's  business,  and  a  man  will 
always  free  himself  from  serving  God,  that  is,  from  doing 
the  works  of  life,  by  substituting  the  ministration  to  what 
is  dead  for  the  ministration  to  the  living. 

254.  The  harm  consists  in  this,  that,  by  admitting  this 
offence,  men  will  always  put  off  serving  God  until  they 
are  free  from  all  worldly  affairs.  But  men  are  never  free 
from  worldly  affairs.  Not  to  fall  into  this  offence,  a  man 
must  understand  and  remember  that  no  human  affair, 
which  has  an  end,  can  be  tlie  aim  of  his  true,  infinite  life, 
and  that  such  an  aim  can  only  be  the  participation  in 
God's  infinite  affairs,  which  consists  in  the  gi-eatest  possi- 
ble manifestation  of  love. 

255.  And  so,  in  order  not  to  fall  into  this  offence,  a 
man  must  never  attend  to  such  affairs  of  his  as  impairs 
God's  affairs,  that  is,  the  love  of  men  ;  he  must  be  at  all 
times  prepared  to  throw  up  any  business,  as  soon  as  the 
execution  of  God's  work  calls  him,  —  to  be  like  a  labourer 
who  is  working  for  his  master  and  can  attend  to  his  own 
affairs  only  when  his  master's  work  does  not  demand  his 
strength  and  his  attention. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  427 

XLVII.      THE   LIE   AND    THE   HARM   OF   THE   OFFENCE   OF 

FAMILY 

256.  This  offence  more  than  any  other  justifies  men's 
sins.  If  a  man  is  free  from  the  offence  of  preparation  for 
life,  of  the  offence  of  affairs,  hardly  a  man,  especially  a 
woman,  is  free  from  the  offence  of  family, 

257.  This  offence  consists  in  this,  that  men,  in  the 
name  of  their  exclusive  love  for  the  members  of  their 
families,  consider  themselves  free  from  their  obligations 
toward  other  men,  and  calmly  commit  the  sins  of  greed, 
of  struggle,  of  idleness,  of  lust,  without  considering  them 
to  be  sins. 

258.  The  lie  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that  the 
animal  feeling  which  incites  a  man  to  continue  the  race 
and  which  is  legitimate  only  in  that  measure  in  which  it 
does  not  impair  the  love  of  men,  is  taken  to  be  a  virtue 
which  justifies  sin. 

259.  The  harm  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that  it, 
more  than  any  other  offence,  intensifies  the  sin  of  property, 
embitters  the  struggle  between  men,  by  raising  the  animal 
feeling  of  love  for  one's  family  to  a  desert  and  virtue,  and 
leads  people  away  from  the  possibihty  of  knowing  the  true 
meaning  of  life. 

260.  Not  to  fall  into  this  offence,  a  man  must  not  only 
refrain  from  educating  in  himself  love  for  the  members  of 
his  family,  from  considering  this  love  a  virtue,  and  aban- 
doning himself  to  it,  but,  on  the  contrary,  knowing  the 
offence,  he  must  always  be  on  guard  against  it,  in  order 
that  he  may  not  sacrifice  the  love  of  God  for  the  love  of 
family. 

261.  One  may  without  reserve  love  one's  enemies,  unat- 
tractive people,  strangers,  and  fully  abandon  oneself  to 
this  love  ;  but  it  is  not  right  to  love  thus  one's  family, 
because  such  a  love  leads  to  blindness  and  to  the  justi- 
fication of  sins. 


428  THIi    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

262.  Not  to  fall  into  this  offence,  a  man  must  under- 
stand and  remember  that  love  is  only  then  true  love, 
giving  life  and  the  good,  when  it  does  not  seek,  does  not 
wait,  does  not  hope  for  rewards,  just  like  any  manifesta- 
tion of  life  which  expects  no  reward  for  existing;  but 
that  love  for  the  members  of  one's  family  is  an  animal 
feeling  which  is  good  only  so  long  as  it  remains  within 
the  limits  of  instinct  and  a  man  does  not  sacrifice  his 
spiritual  demands  for  it. 

263.  And  so,  not  to  fall  into  this  offence,  a  man  must 
try  and  do  the  same  for  any  stranger  that  he  wishes  to  do 
for  his  family,  and  for  the  members  of  his  family  he  must 
do  nothing  which  he  is  not  prepared  and  able  to  do  for 
any  stranger. 

XLVIII.      THE    LIE    AND    THE    HAEM    OF   THE    OFFENCE    OF 

ASSOCIATION 

264.  It  seems  to  people  that  if  they,  segregating  them- 
selves from  other  men,  and  uniting  among  themselves 
under  exclusive  conditions,  observe  these  conditions,  they 
are  doing  such  a  good  deed  that  they  are  freed  from  the 
common  demands  of  their  conscience. 

265.  The  lie  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that,  by 
entering  into  associations  with  a  small  number  of  men, 
the  people  segregate  themselves  from  the  natural  associa- 
tion with  all  men  and  so  impair  the  most  important 
natural  obligations  in  the  name  of  the  artificial  ones. 

266.  The  harm  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that 
men  who  have  placed  themselves  under  conditions  of 
association,  being  guided  in  life,  not  by  common  laws 
of  reason,  but  by  their  exclusive  rules,  more  and  more 
depart  from  the  rational  principles  of  life,  which  are 
common  to  all  men,  become  more  intolerant  and  more 
cruel  to  all  those  who  do  not  belong  to  their  association, 
and  thus  deprive  themselves  and  others  of  the  true  good. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  429 

267.  Not  to  fall  into  this  offence  a  man  must  under- 
stand and  remember  that  the  rules  of  association  as 
established  by  men  may  be  infinitely  varied,  infinitely 
changeable,  and  contrary  to  one  another ;  that  every  rule 
which  is  artificially  established  by  men  must  not  bind 
him,  if  it  can  be  contrary  to  the  law  of  love ;  that  every 
exclusive  combination  with  men  limits  the  circle  of  com- 
munion, and  thus  deprives  him  of  the  chief  condition  of 
his  good,  —  the  possibility  of  a  communion  of  love  with 
all  the  men  of  the  world. 

268.  And  so  we  must  not  only  refrain  from  joining 
such  societies,  associations,  compacts,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
must  avoid  everything  which  with  the  others  may  exclude 
all  the  rest  of  men. 


XLIX,      THE   LIE   AND   THE   HARM   OF   THE   OFFENCE   OF 

STATE 

269.  This  most  cruel  offence  is  conveyed  to  men  just 
like  a  false  faith,  —  by  means  of  two  methods  of  decep- 
tion, of  impressing  the  lie  upon  children  and  of  appealing 
to  men's  senses  by  external  pomp.  Nearly  all  men  who 
live  in  states  find  themselves,  as  soon  as  they  awaken  to 
consciousness,  entangled  in  the  offences  of  state,  and  live 
in  the  conviction  that  their  nation,  their  country,  their 
fatherland,  is  the  best,  the  chosen  nation,  country,  father- 
land, for  the  good  and  the  well-being  of  which  people 
must  bhudly  obey  the  existing  government,  and  by  the 
command  of  this  government  torture,  wound,  and  kill 
their  neighbours. 

270.  The  lie  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that  a 
man  thinks  that  in  the  name  of  the  good  of  his  nation  he 
may  renounce  the  demands  of  his  conscience  and  of  his 
moral  freedom. 

271.  The  harm  of  this  offence  consists  in  this,  that  as 
soon  as  a  man  admits  the  possibility  of  understanding 


430  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

and  knowing  in  what  the  good  of  many  men  consists, 
there  are  no  limits  to  the  assumption  concerning  that 
good  of  many  men,  which  may  result  from  any  act,  and 
so  any  act  may  be  justified ;  and  as  soon  as  he  admits 
that  for  the  good  of  many  in  the  future  one  may  sacrifice 
the  good  and  the  life  of  one  man,  there  are  no  limits  to 
the  evil  which  may  be  committed  in  the  name  of  such  an 
assumption.  On  the  basis  of  the  first  assumption,  which 
is,  that  men  can  know  the  future  good  of  many  men,  they 
in  former  times  maintained  tortures,  inquisitions,  slavery, 
and  now  maintain  courts,  prisons,  the  ownership  of  land. 
On  the  basis  of  the  second  assumption  Caiaphas  in  former 
times  had  Christ  killed,  and  now  millions  perish  in  war 
and  as  the  result  of  punishments. 

272.  Not  to  fall  into  this  offence,  a  man  must  under- 
stand and  remember  that,  before  belonging  to  any  country 
or  nation,  he  belongs  to  God,  as  a  member  of  the  univer- 
sal kingdom,  and  that  he  cannot  shift  his  responsibility 
for  his  acts  on  anybody  else,  and  himself  is  always  re- 
sponsible for  them. 

273.  And  so  a  man  must  never,  under  any  conditions, 
prefer  the  people  of  his  own  nation  or  country  to  the 
people  of  another  nation  or  country ;  he  must  never  com- 
mit any  evil  to  his  neighbours  in  view  of  any  considera- 
tions about  the  future  good  of  many;  he  must  never 
consider  himself  obliged  to  obey  any  one  in  preference  to 
his  conscience. 


PART   THE    SIXTH 

THE   STEUGGLE   WITH    SINS 

L.      THE   STRUGGLE   WITH   SINS 

274.  But,  having  freed  himself  from  the  deception  of 
faith  and  having  kept  away  from  the  offences,  a  man  none 
the  less  falls  into  sins.  A  man  with  an  awakened  con- 
sciousness knows  that  the  meaning  of  his  life  is  only  in 
the  service  of  God,  and  yet  he  from  habit  commits  sins, 
which  interfere  with  the  manifestation  of  his  love  and 
the  attainment  of  his  true  good. 

275.  How  is  a  man  to  struggle  with  the  habit  of  sin- 
ning ? 

276.  There  are  two  means  for  the  struggle  with  the 
habit  of  sinning :  the  first  is  clearly  to  understand  the 
consequences  of  the  sins,  —  that  the  sins  do  not  attain 
the  aim  for  which  they  are  committed,  and  do  not  in- 
crease, but  rather  diminish  the  animal  good  for  the  indi- 
vidual man ;  in  the  second  place,  to  know  with  what  sins 
one  ought  to  begin  to  struggle,  with  what  first  and  with 
what  later. 

277.  And  so  it  is  necessary  first  of  aU  clearly  to  under- 
stand and  remember  that  a  man's  position  in  the  world 
is  such  that  every  search  by  him  for  the  personal  good, 
after  the  rational  consciousness  has  awakened  in  him, 
deprives  him  of  the  good  itself,  and  that,  on  the  contrary, 
he  receives  his  good  only  when  he  does  not  think  of  his 
personal  good,  but  gives  all  his  strength  to  the  service  of 

God. 

431 


432  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

278.  In  the  second  place,  that  for  success  in  his  strug- 
gle with  the  habits  of  sinning  it  is  necessary  to  know  to 
what  sin  he  is  first  of  all  to  direct  his  attention ;  not 
to  begin  the  struggle  with  a  sin  which  has  its  root  in 
another  unconquered  sin  ;  to  know  the  connection  and  the 
consecutiveness  of  the  sins. 


LI.      THE    CONSECUTIVENESS    OF    THE    STKUGGLE    WITH 

SINS 

279.  There  is  a  connection  and  a  consecutiveness  of 
the  sins,  so  that  one  sin  brings  forth  another  or  interferes 
with  the  liberation  from  it. 

280.  It  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  free  himself  from 
any  of  the  sins,  if  he  surrenders  himself  to  the  sin  of 
intoxication ;  and  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  free  himself 
from  the  sin  of  struggle,  if  he  surrenders  himself  to  the 
sin  of  property  ;  and  he  cannot  free  himself  from  the  sin 
of  property,  if  he  surrenders  himself  to  the  sin  of  idleness, 
and  he  cannot  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  struggle  and 
of  property,  if  he  surrenders  himself  to  the  sin  of  lust. 

281.  This  does  not  mean  that  a  man  need  not  struggle 
with  every  sin  at  some  time,  but  that,  for  a  successful 
struggle  with  sin,  it  is  necessary  to  know  with  which  to 
begin,  or,  rather,  with  which  not  to  begin,  in  order  that 
the  struggle  may  be  successful. 

282.  Only  from  tlie  lack  of  consecutiveness  in  this 
struggle  with  sins  results  the  failure  of  the  struggle, 
which  frequently  leads  the  struggling  man  to  despair. 

283.  Intoxication,  no  matter  of  what  kind,  is  the  sin, 
abandonment  to  which  makes  struggle  with  any  other 
sin  impossible ;  this  intoxication  may  be  from  intoxi- 
cating matters,  or  from  solemnity,  or  from  rapid,  inten- 
sified motions ;  the  intoxicated  person  will  not  struggle 
with  idleness,  nor  with  lust,  nor  with  fornication,  nor  with 
the  love  of  power.     And  so,  in  order  to  struggle  with  the 


THIi    CniilSTIAN    TEACHING  433 

other  sltis,  a  mau  must  first  of  all  free  himself  from  the  sin 
of  iutoxication. 

284.  The  uext  sin  from  which  a  man  must  free  him- 
self in  order  that  he  may  be  able  to  struggle  with  lust, 
pt-ofit,  love  of  power,  fornication,  is  the  sin  of  idleness. 
The  freer  a  man  is  from  the  sin  of  idleness,  the  easier  can 
he  abstain  from  the  sin  of  lust,  profit,  fornication,  aud 
love  of  power :  a  working  person  is  in  no  need  of  the 
complication  of  means  for  the  gratification  of  his  needs,  is 
in  no  need  of  property,  is  less  subject  to  the  temp- 
tations of  fornication  and  has  no  catise  and  no  time  for 
struggle. 

285.  The  next  sin  is  the  sin  of  lust.  The  more  a  man 
is  abstinent  in  food,  attire,  and  dwelling,  the  easier  it  is 
for  him  to  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  profit,  love  of 
power,  foruication :  a  man  who  is  satisfied  with  httle 
needs  no  property,  abstinence  helps  in  the  struggle  with 
fornication,  and,  as  he  does  not  need  much,  he  has  no 
causes  for  struggling. 

286.  The  next  sin  after  this  is  the  sin  of  profit.  The 
freer  a  man  will  be  from  this  sin,  the  easier  it  will  be  for 
him  to  abstain  from  the  sin  of  fornication  and  the  sin  of 
struggling.  Notliing  encourages  the  sin  of  fornication  so 
much  as  a  superabundance  of  property,  and  nothing  pro- 
vokes so  much  struggle  among  men. 

287.  The  next  sin  to  it  and  the  last  sin  is  the  sin  of 
struggling,  or  of  the  love  of  power,  which  is  included  in 
all  the  other  sins  and  is  called  forth  by  all  the  other  sins, 
and  the  greatest  liberation  from  which  is  possible  only 
with  the  liberation  from  all  the  preceding  sins. 


LII.       HOW    TO    STRUGGLE    WITH    THE    SINS 

288.  It  is  possible  to  struggle  with  the  sins  in  general 
only  by  knowing  the  Consecutiveness  of  the  sins,  so  that 
Otie  can  first  begin  the  struggle  with  those,  without  the 


434  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

liberation  from  which  it  is  impossible  to  struggle  with 
the  rest. 

289.  But  even  in  the  struggle  with  each  separate  sin 
one  ought  to  begin  with  those  manifestations  of  the  sins, 
the  abstinence  from  which  is  in  the  power  of  a  man,  of 
which  he  has  not  yet  made  a  habit. 

290.  Such  sins  in  all  the  varieties  of  sins,  —  in  intoxi- 
cation, idleness,  lust,  profit,  power,  and  fornication,  —  are 
the  personal  sins,  those  which  a  man  commits  for  the  first 
time,  v/hen  he  has  not  yet  formed  any  habit  of  them. 
And  so  it  is  from  these  that  a  man  must  free  himself 
first  of  all. 

291.  Only  after  having  freed  himself  from  these  sins, 
that  is,  after  having  stopped  inventing  new  means  for  the 
increase  of  his  personal  good,  must  a  man  begin  the 
struggle  with  the  habits,  the  tradition,  estabhshed  -among 
the  sins. 

292.  And  only  after  having  vanquished  these  sins  can 
a  man  begin  the  struggle  with  the  inborn  sins. 

LIII.      THE    STRUGGLE    WITH    THE    SIN    OF    INTOXICATION 

293.  Man's  destination  consists  in  the  manifestation 
and  increase  of  love.  This  increase  takes  place  only  in 
consequence  of  man's  recognition  of  his  true  divine  ego. 
The  more  a  man  becomes  conscious  of  his  true  ego,  the 
greater  is  his  good.  And  so  everything  which  counteracts 
this  consciousness  (and  each  excitation  does  counteract  it), 
the  intensified  false  consciousness  of  the  individual  life 
and  the  weakened  consciousness  of  the  true  ego  (as  is 
the  case  in  every  intoxication),  impedes  man's  true 
good. 

294.  But  not  only  does  every  intoxication  impede  the 
true  good  of  the  man  who  has  awakened  to  consciousness : 
it  also  deceives  a  man,  and  not  only  fails  to  increase  the 
man's  own  individual  good,  which    he  seeks,  when  he 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  435 

abandons  himself  to  some  stimulus,  but  always  deprives 
liim  also  of  that  animal  good  which  he  had. 

295.  A  man  who  is  still  in  the  stage  of  the  animal  life, 
or  a  babe  with  uuawakened  consciousness,  in  abandoning 
himself  to  some  stimulus,  to  smoking,  drinking,  solemnity, 
dance,  receives  a  full  gratification  from  the  stimulus  pro- 
duced and  is  in  no  need  of  a  repetition  of  this  stimulus. 
But  a  man  with  an  awakened  consciousness  notices  that 
every  stimulus  drowns  in  him  the  activity  of  his  reason 
and  destroys  the  morbidity  of  the  contradiction  between 
the  demand  of  his  animal  and  that  of  his  spiritual  nature, 
and  so  demands  a  repetition  and  intensification  of  the 
intoxication,  and  keeps  demanding  it  more  and  more, 
until  the  awakened  reason  will  be  completely  drowned  in 
him,  which  can  be  done  only  by  completely  or  at  least 
partially  destroying  the  bodily  Hfe.  Thus  a  rational  hfe, 
having  begun  to  abandon  himself  to  this  sin,  not  only 
does  not  receive  the  expected  good,  but  also  falls  into  the 
most  varied  and  most  cruel  of  calamities. 

296.  A  man  who  is  free  from  intoxication  makes  use 
for  his  worldly  life  of  all  those  forces  of  the  mind  which 
are  given  to  him,  and  can  rationally  choose  the  best  for 
the  good  of  his  animal  existence ;  but  a  man  who  aban- 
dons himself  to  intoxication  deprives  himself  even  of  those 
mental  forces  which  are  characteristic  of  the  animal  for 
the  avoidance  of  harm  and  the  attainment  of  pleasure. 

297.  Such  are  the  consequences  of  the  sin  of  intoxica- 
tion for  the  sinner ;  but  for  those  who  surround  him  they 
are  particularly  harmful,  in  the  first  place,  because  an 
enormous  waste  of  forces  is  necessary  for  the  production 
of  the  act  of  intoxication,  so  that  the  major  part  of  hu- 
manity's labour  is  wasted  on  the  production  of  intoxicat- 
ing substances  and  the  preparation  and  building  up  of 
intoxicating  solemn  acts,  processions,  ministrations,  monu- 
ments, temples,  and  all  kinds  of  celebrations ;  in  the 
second  place,  because  smoking,  wine,  intensified  motions, 


436  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

arid  especially  solemnities,  cause  unthiuking  people,  while 
they  are  under  the  influence  of  these  actions,  to  commit 
the  most  insipid,  coarse,  pernicious,  and  cruel  acts.  It  is 
this  that  a  man  must  always  have  in  view  when  he  sur- 
renders himself  to  the  temptation  of  some  intoxication. 

298.  No  man,  so  long  as  he  lives  in  the  body,  is  able 
to  destroy  in  himself  completely  the  ability  to  receive  a 
temporary  stimulus  of  intoxication  from  the  consumption 
of  food  or  drink,  or  froui  external  conditions,  or  from  in- 
tensified motions,  and  an  intensification  of  his  aninial 
consciousness  in  consequence  of  it  and  a  weakening  of 
the  consciousness  of  his  spiritual  ego.  But  although  a 
man  is  not  ^.ble  completely  to  destroy  in  himself  this 
inclination  toward  being  stimulated,  he  is  capable  of 
reducing  it  to  the  smallest  degree.  And  in  this  consists 
the  struggle  with  the  sin  of  intoxication,  which  is  immi- 
nent to  every  man. 

299.  To  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  intoxication,  a 
man  must  understand  and  remember  that  a  certain  degree 
of  stimulation  at  certain  times  and  under  certain  condi- 
tions is  proper  to  man,  as  an  animal,  but  that,  with  the 
awakened  consciousness  in  him,  he  must  not  only  avoid 
seeking  these  stimuli,  but  must  also  get  out  of  their  way 
aud  seek  a  quieter  state,  in  which  the  activity  of  his 
mind  may  be  manifested  in  its  full  force,  that  activity 
which,  when  followed  up,  makes  it  possible  for  him  to 
q,ttain  the  greatest  good,  both  his  own  and  that  of  men 
and  beings  that  are  coni^ected  with  him. 

300.  In  order  to  attain  this  state,  a  man  must  begip 
by  not  increasing  for  himself  that  sin  of  intoxication  to 
which  he  has  become  accustomed  and  which  is  the  hab;t 
of  his  life.  If  certain  habits  of  intoxication,  which  re^ 
peat  themselves  at  certaip  times  and  are  considered  nec- 
essary by  those  who  surround  him,  have  entered  into  the 
routine  of  his  life,  let  him  continue  these  habits,  but  Jet^ 
him  not  introduce  pew  opes,  imitating  others  or  inventing 


THE    CllKISTlAN    TEACHING  437 

them  himself :  if  he  is  accustomed  to  smoke  cigarettes, 
let  him  not  train  himself  to  smoke  cigars  or  opium ;  if  he 
is  used  to  beer  or  wine,  let  him  not  train  himself  to  some- 
thing more  intoxicating  ;  if  he  is  accustomed  to  obeisances 
at  prayers,  at  home  or  in  church,  or  to  jumping  and  leap- 
ing at  services,  let  him  not  learn  new  observances ;  if  he 
is  accustomed  to  celebrate  certain  holidays,  let  him  not 
celebrate  new  ones.  Let  him  not  increase  those  means 
for  stimulation  to  which  he  is  accustomed,  and  he  will  do 
very  much  for  the  liberation  of  himself  and  of  others 
from  the  sin  of  intoxication.  If  people  would  not  intro- 
duce new  methods  of  sinning,  sin  would  be  destroyed, 
because  sin  begins  when  there  is  not  yet^ny  habit  formed 
of  it,  and  it  is  possible  to  vanquish  it,  and  there  have 
always  been  and  always  will  be  men  who  liberate  them- 
selves from  sin. 

301.  If  a  man  has  firmly  recognized  the  madness  of 
the  sin  of  intoxication,  and  has  firmly  resolved  not  to  in- 
crease those  habits  of  intoxication  which  have  become 
customary  to  him,  let  him  stop  smoking  and  drinking,  if 
he  already  has  these  habits ;  let  him  stop  taking  part  in 
solemnities  and  celebrations,  in  which  he  used  to  take 
part  before ;  let  him  stop  making  stimulating  motions,  if 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  making  them. 

302.  But  if  a  man  has  freed  himself  from  those  artifi- 
cial habits  of  intoxication  in  which  he  is  living  already, 
let  him  free  himself  from  those  conditions  of  excitation 
which  are  produced  in  him  by  certain  food,  drink,  mo- 
tions, and  surroundings,  to  which  every  man  is  sub- 
ject. 

303.  Although  a  man,  so  long  as  he  is  in  the  body, 
will  never  fully  be  freed  from  excitation  and  intoxica- 
tion, produced  by  food,  drink,  motions,  surroundings, — 
the  degree  of  these  conditions  may  be  diminished  to  a 
minimum.  The  more  a  man  who  has  awakened  to  con- 
sciousness will  free  himself  from  the  condition  of  intoxi- 


438  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

cation,  the  clearer  will  his  mind  be,  the  easier  will  it  be 
for  him  to  struggle  with  all  the  other  sins,  the  more  true 
good  will  he  receive,  the  more  will  there  be  added  to  him 
of  worldly  good,  and  the  more  will  he  contribute  to  the 
good  of  other  men. 

LIV.      THE    STRUGGLE   WITH   THE   SIN   OF   IDLENESS 

304.  A  man  with  an  awakened  consciousness  is  not  a 
self-existing,  self-satisfied  being  that  can  have  its  own 
independent  good,  but  a  messenger  of  God,  to  whom  the 
good  is  possible  only  in  the  measure  in  which  he  does 
God's  will.  And  so  it  is  as  irrational  for  a  man  to  serve 
his  own  separate  personality  as  it  is  irrational  for  a 
labourer  to  serve  his  instrument  of  labour,  take  care  of 
his  spade  or  scythe,  and  not  waste  it  on  his  predetermined 
work ;  as  it  says  in  the  Gospel,  he  who  keeps  his  carnal 
life,  loses  the  true  Hfe ;  and  only  by  losing  the  car- 
nal life  is  it  possible  to  receive  the  true  life. 

305.  To  make  other  persons  work  for  the  gratification 
of  one's  needs  is  as  irrational  as  it  would  be  for  a  labourer 
to  destroy  or  spoil  his  companion's  instruments  of  labour, 
in  order  to  save  or  improve  the  instrument  with  which 
he,  wasting  it,  must  produce  the  work  for  which  he  and 
his  companions  are  delegated. 

306.  But  besides  that  true  good,  of  which  a  man 
deprives  himself  when  he  frees  himself  from  labour  and 
imposes  it  upon  others,  such  a  man  at  the  same  time 
deprives  himself  also  of  that  worldly  animal  good  which 
is  set  aside  for  man  with  his  natural  bodily  labour 
demanded  of  him  for  the  gratification  of  his  needs. 

307.  A  man  will  receive  the  greatest  good  of  his  sepa- 
rate being  from  the  exercise  of  his  forces  and  from  rest, 
when  he  shall  live  instinctively  like  an  animal,  labouring 
and  resting  precisely  as  much  as  his  animal  life  demands. 
But  the  moment  a  man  artificially  transfers  his  labours 


THE   CURISTIAN   TEACHING  439 

to  others,  arranging  an  artificial  rest  for  himself,  he  will 
not  derive  any  enjoyment  from  his  rest. 

308.  A  working  man  derives  true  enjoyment  from  rest ; 
but  an  idle  man,  in  place  of  the  rest  which  he  is  trying 
to  arrange  for  himself,  experiences  constant  unrest,  and, 
besides,  by  means  of  this  artificial  idleness  destroys  the 
very  source  of  enjoyment,  —  his  health,  —  so  that  by  weak- 
ening his  body,  he  deprives  himself  of  the  possibility  of 
work,  and  so  also  of  the  consequences  of  work,  of  true 
rest,  and  begets  in  himself  grave  diseases. 

309.  Such  are  the  consequences  of  idleness  for  the 
sinner ;  for  those  about  him  the  consequences  of  this  sin 
are  pernicious,  in  the  first  place,  because,  as  a  Chinese 
proverb  runs,  if  there  is  one  idle  man  there  is  also  one 
who  is  starving ;  in  the  second  place,  because  unthinking 
men,  who  do  not  know  that  dissatisfaction  which  is  expe- 
rienced by  idle  men,  try  to  imitate  them,  and  instead  of 
good  sensations  experience  bad  sentiments  toward  this 
dissatisfaction. 

310.  To  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  idleness,  a  man 
must  clearly  understand  and  remember  that  every  libera- 
tion of  himself  from  the  work  which  he  has  been  perform- 
ing does  not  increase,  but  diminishes  the  good  of  his 
separate  personahty  and  produces  an  unnecessary  evil  to 
other  men. 

311.  It  is  impossible  in  the  separate  animal  existence 
of  man  to  diminish  the  striving  after  rest  and  the  dislike 
of  work  (according  to  the  Bible  idleness  was  bliss  and 
work  a  punishment),  but  the  diminution  of  this  sin  and 
its  reduction  to  the  lowest  degree  is  that  toward  which 
a  man  must  strive  in  order  to  free  himself  from  this  sin. 

312.  To  free  himself  from  the  habit  of  sinning,  a  man 
must  begin  by  not  freeing  himself  from  any  work  that  he 
may  have  been  doing  before  ;  if  he  brushed  his  own 
clothes  and  washed  his  linen,  he  must  not  cause  another 
to  do  that ;  if  he  got  along  without  the  productions  of 


440  THE    ClIRISTIAX    TEACHING 

other  people's  labour,  he  should  not  buy  tliem ;  if  he  used 
to  walk,  he  should  not  mount  a  horse ;  if  he  carried  his 
own  satchel,  he  should  not  give  it  to  a  porter,  and  so 
forth.  All  this  seems  so  insignificant,  but  if  men  would 
do  so  they  would  be  freeing  themselves  from  a  great  num- 
ber of  their  sins  and  the  sufferings  arising  therefrom. 

313.  Only  when  a  man  is  already  able  to  abstain  from 
freeing  himself  from  the  labour  which  he  used  to  perform 
before,  and  from  transferring  it  to  others,  can  he  success- 
fully begin  his  struggle  with  the  inherited  sin  of  idleness. 
If  he  is  a  peasant,  let  him  not  make  his  weak  wife  do 
what  he  has  the  leisure  to  do  himself,  nor  hire  a  labourer 
whom  he  used  to  hire  before,  nor  purchase  an  article  of 
the  production  of  labour  which  he  used  to  buy  formerly, 
but  without  which  others  are  getting  along  ;  if  he  is  rich, 
let  him  send  away  his  valet  and  put  away  his  own  things, 
and  stop  buying,  as  formerly,  expensive  garments,  if  he  is 
used  to  doing  so. 

314.  But  if  a  man  has  been  able  to  vanquish  that  idle- 
ness to  which  he  has  been  accustomed  from  childhood, 
and  has  descended  to  that  level  of  work  on  which  the 
men  who  surround  him  live,  he  is  able  successfully  to 
begin  the  struggle  with  the  inborn  sin  of  idleness,  that  is, 
to  labour  for  the  good  of  other  men  and  when  others  rest 
themselves. 

315.  The  fact  that  human  life  has  become  so  compli- 
cated in  consequence  of  the  division  of  labour  that  a  man 
is  unable  himself  to  satisfy  his  own  needs  and  those  of 
his  family,  and  that  it  is  impossible  in  our  world  to  get 
along  without  using  the  labours  of  others,  cannot  keep 
a  man  from  striving  after  a  state  in  which  he  would  give 
to  people  more  than  he  receives  from  them. 

316.  To  be  convinced  of  this,  a  man  must  in  the  first 
place  do  for  himself  and  his  family  what  he  can  find  the 
time  to  do,  and,  in  the  second,  in  his  serving  other  men 
must  not  choose  such  matters  as  please  him,  and  for  which 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  441 

there  are  many  volunteers,  as  is  the  case  with  all  niatteis 
of  the  government  of  men,  of  their  instruction,  of  their 
amusement,  but  such  as  are  pressingly  indispensable, 
which  are  not  attractive,  and  wliich  all  men  reject,  as  is 
the  case  with  coarse  and  dirty  work. 

LV.      THE    STRUGGLE    W'lTH    THE    SIN    OF    LUST 

317.  It  is  man's  destination  to  serve  God  by  the  in- 
crease of  love  in  himself.  The  fewer  the  needs  are  which 
a  man  may  have,  the  easier  will  it  be  for  him  to  serve 
God  and  men,  and  so  the  greater  will  the  true  good  be 
which  he  will  receive  through  the  increase  of  love  in 
himself. 

318.  But  besides  that  good  of  the  true  life,  of  which 
the  more  a  man  receives  the  freer  he  will  be  from  the  sin 
of  lust,  a  man's  position  in  the  world  is  such  that  if  he 
abandons  himself  to  his  needs  only  to  the  extent  to  which 
they  demand  their  gratification,  and  does  not  direct  his 
inind  Upon  the  increase  of  enjoyment  from  their  gratifica- 
tion, this  gratification  gives  him  the  greatest  accessible 
good  in  this  respect.  With  every  increase  of  his  needs, 
no  matter  whether  they  are  gratified  or  not,  the  good  of 
the  worldly  life  is  inevitably  diminished. 

319.  The  greatest  good  from  the  gratification  of  his 
needs  of  eating,  drinking,  sleeping,  raiment,  and  house, 
a  man  receives  only  when  he  gratifies  them  like  an 
animal,  instinctively  and  not  in  order  to  receive  enjoy- 
ment, but  in  order  to  destroy  incipient  suffering ;  the 
greatest  enjoyment  from  food  a  man  will  receive,  not 
when  he  has  refined  food,  but  when  he  is  hungry  ;  and 
from  raiment,  not  when  it  is  beautiful,  but  when  he  is 
frozen ;  and  from  the  house,  not  when  it  is  luxurious,  but 
when  he  takes  refuge  in  it  from  ill  weather. 

320.  A  man  who  enjoys  a  rich  dinner,  garments,  a 
house,  without  any  necessity,  derives  less  pleasure  than 


442  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

a  man  who  uses  the  poorest  kind  of  food,  raiment,  and 
house  after  he  has  been  starving,  freezing,  and  feehng  wet, 
so  that  the  compHcation  of  the  means  for  gratifying  the 
needs  and  their  abundance  do  not  increase  the  good  of  the 
personal  Hfe,  but  diminish  it. 

321.  A  superabundance  in  the  gratification  of  the  needs 
deprives  a  man  of  the  very  source  of  enjoyment  in  con- 
nection with  the  gratification  of  needs ;  it  destroys  the 
health  of  the  organism,  —  no  food  affords  pleasure  to  the 
sick,  weakened  stomach,  and  no  garment  and  no  houses 
warm  the  aneemic  bodies. 

322.  Such  are  the  consequences  of  the  sin  of  lust  for 
the  sinner ;  but  for  the  men  who  surround  him  its  conse- 
quences are  these,  that,  in  the  first  place,  needy  persons 
are  deprived  of  those  objects  which  are  used  by  those 
who  live  in  luxury ;  in  the  second  place,  all  those  mean- 
spirited  men  who  see  the  abundance  of  him  who  lives  in 
luxury,  but  do  not  see  his  sufferings,  are  tempted  by  his 
condition  and  are  drawn  into  the  same  sin,  and,  instead 
of  the  natural,  universal,  joyous  fraternal  feelings,  experi- 
ence painful  envy  and  ill-will  toward  those  who  live  in 
luxury.  This  a  man  must  know  in  order  to  be  able 
successfully  to  struggle  with  the  sin  of  lust. 

323.  It  is  impossible  in  the  separate  being  of  a  man  to 
destroy  the  striving  after  the  increase  of  enjoyment  from 
the  gratification  of  needs,  so  long  as  a  man  lives  in  the 
body,  but  he  may  reduce  this  striving  in  himself  to  a 
minimum,  and  in  this  does  the  struggle  with  this  sin 
consist. 

324.  For  the  greatest  liberation  of  oneself  from  this 
sin  of  lust,  a  man  must  first  of  all  understand  clearly  and 
remember  that  every  complication  of  the  gratification  of 
one's  needs  does  not  increase,  but  diminishes  his  good,  and 
produces  unnecessary  evil  in  other  men. 

325.  To  free  himself  from  the  habit  of  sinning,  a  man 
must  begin  by  not  increasing  his  needs,  by  not  changing 


THE   CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  443 

what  he  is  used  to,  by  not  accepting  or  inventing  some- 
thing new ;  he  must  not  begin  to  drink  tea,  if  he  lived 
and  was  well  without  it ;  he  must  not  build  a  new  castle, 
if  he  lived  in  an  old  one.  It  seems  such  a  little  thing 
not  to  do  this,  but  if  men  did  not  do  this,  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  thousandths  of  human  sins  and  sufferings 
would  be  destroyed. 

326.  Only  by  abstaining  firmly  from  introducing  new 
luxury  into  his  life  can  a  man  begin  the  struggle  with  the 
sins  of  heredity,  can  a  man,  who  is  accustomed  to  drink- 
ing tea  and  eating  meat,  or  who  is  used  to  champagne  and 
trotters,  give  up  the  habit  of  what  is  superfluous,  and  pass 
from  more  luxurious  habits  to  such  as  are  more  modest. 

327.  Only  by  giving  up  the  habits  of  luxurious  people 
and  descending  to  the  level  of  the  poorest  can  a  man  begin 
to  struggle  with  the  natural  sins  of  lust,  that  is,  diminish 
his  needs  in  comparison  with  the  poorest  and  most  absti- 
nent of  men. 


LVI.      THE   STKUGGLE   WITH   THE   SIN   OF   PEOFIT 

328.  Man's  true  good  consists  in  the  manifestation  of 
love,  and  with  this  a  man  is  placed  in  such  a  situation 
that  he  never  knows  when  he  is  going  to  die,  and  every 
hour  of  his  life  may  be  the  last,  so  that  a  rational  man 
can  by  no  means  violate  the  love  in  the  present  for  the 
sake  of  his  care  to  secure  the  one  in  the  future.  But  it  is 
this  that  a  man  does  when  he  tries  to  acquire  property 
and  to  hold  it  against  other  people  for  the  safeguarding  of 
his  own  future  and  that  of  his  family. 

329.  Not  only  do  men,  by  acting  thus,  deprive  them- 
selves of  the  true  good ;  they  do  not  even  attain  that  good 
of  the  separate  personality  which  is  always  safeguarded 
for  each  man. 

330.  It  is  proper  for  man  to  gratify  his  needs  by  means 
of  his  labour,  and  even  to  prepare  the  objects  of  his  needs, 


444  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

as  some  animals  do,  and,  acting  in  this  manner,  a  man 
attains  the  highest  accessible  good  of  his  separate  exist- 
ence. 

331.  But  the  moment  a  man  begins  to  claim  exclusive 
rights  to  these  prepared  and  otherwise  acquired  objects, 
the  good  of  his  separate  existence  is  not  only  diminished, 
but  even  changes  to  suffering  for  this  existence. 

332.  A  man  who,  in  the  safeguarding  of  his  future, 
relies  upon  his  work,  upon  men's  mutual  aid,  and,  above 
all,  upon  such  an  order  of  the  world  in  which  men  are  as 
well  provided  for  in  life  as  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the 
flowers  of  the  field,  can  calmly  surrender  himself  to  all 
the  joys  of  hfe ;  but  a  man  who  has  himself  begun  to 
make  his  future  possessions  secure  cannot  have  a  minute's 
rest. 

333.  In  the  first  place,  he  never  knows  to  what  extent 
he  must  make  himself  secure,  whether  for  a  month,  a 
year,  ten  years,  or  the  next  generation.  In  the  second 
place,  property  cares  draw  a  man  more  and  more  away 
from  the  simple  joys  of  life ;  in  the  third  place,  he  is 
always  afraid  of  seizures  by  other  people,  always  struggles 
for  the  preservation  and  increase  of  what  he  has  acquired, 
and,  giving  up  his  life  to  the  care  of  the  future,  he  noW 
loses  the  present  life. 

334.  Such  are  the  consequences  of  the  sin  of  property 
for  the  sinner ;  but  for  those  who  surround  him  the  conse- 
quences are  privations  as  the  result  of  the  seizures. 

335.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  destroy  in  oneself  the 
striving  after  keeping  exclusively  for  oneself  raiment, 
instruments,  a  piece  of  bread  for  the  morrow,  but  it  is 
possible  to  reduce  this  striving  to  a  minimum,  and  in  this 
reduction  of  the  sin  of  property  to  a  mininmm  does  the 
struggle  with  this  sin  consist. 

336.  And  so,  to  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  property, 
a  man  must  clearly  understand  and  remember  that  every 
provision  for  the  filture  by  means  of  acquiring  and  retain- 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  445 

ing  property  will  not  increase  the  good  of  the  separate 
existeuce,  but  will  diminish  it  and  will  produce  a  large 
and  unnecessary  evil  for  those  men  among  whom  property 
is  acquired  and  retained. 

337.  To  struggle  with  the  habit  of  the  sin,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  begin  by  not  increasing  that  property  which  one 
has  and  which  provides  for  the  future,  —  whether  that  be 
millions  or  dozens  of  sacks  of  rye  for  food  for  the  whole 
year.  If  men  only  understood  that  their  good  and  their 
life,  even  their  animal  life,  are  not  made  secure  by  prop- 
erty, and  if  only  they  did  not  increase  at  the  expense  of 
another  what  each  considers  to  be  his  own,  there  would 
disappear  the  greatest  part  of  the  calamities  from  which 
people  suffer. 

338.  Only  when  a  man  can  refrain  from  increasing  his 
property,  can  he  successfully  begin  the  liberation  of  him- 
self from  what  he  has,  and  only  by  having  freed  himself 
from  everything  hereditary,  can  he  begin  to  struggle  with 
the  inborn  sins,  that  is,  to  give  to  others  what  is  consid- 
ered necessary  for  the  support  of  life  itself. 

LVII.      THE   STRUGGLE   WITH   THE   SIN   OF   LOVE   OF   POWER 

339.  "Kings  rule  over  the  nations  and  are  honoured, 
but  let  it  not  be  thus  among  you,  —  he  who  wants  to  be 
first,  let  him  be  a  servant  to  all,"  says  the  Christian  teach- 
ing. According  to  the  Christian  teaching  a  man  is  sent 
into  the  world  in  order  to  serve  God ;  now  the  service  of 
God  is  achieved  through  the  manifestation  of  love.  Love 
can  be  manifested  only  through  serving  men,  and  so  every 
struggle  of  a  man  who  has  awakened  to  rational  con- 
sciousness with  other  beings,  that  is,  violence  and  the 
desire  to  cause  another  man  to  commit  an  act  which  is 
contrary  to  his  will,  is  contrary  to  man's  destination  and 
interferes  with  his  true  good. 

340.  But  a  man  who  has  awakened   to  the  rational 


446  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

consciousness  and  who  enters  into  a  struggle  with  other 
beings  in  this  way  not  only  deprives  himself  of  the  good 
of  the  true  life,  but  even  does  not  attain  that  good  of  the 
separate  being,  after  which  he  is  striving. 

341.  A  man  who  is  still  living  the  animal  life  alone, 
like  a  child  or  an  animal,  struggles  with  other  beings 
only  so  long  as  his  animal  instincts  demand  this  struggle  : 
he  takes  a  piece  away  from  another,  so  long  as  he  is  hun- 
gry, and  drives  another  man  away  from  his  place,  only  so 
long  as  he  himself  has  no  place ;  he  employs  nothing  but 
physical  force  for  this  struggle,  and,  having  conquered  or 
being  vanquished  in  the  struggle,  he  makes  an  end  of  it. 
And,  in  acting  thus,  he  receives  the  greatest  good  which 
is  accessible  to  him  as  a  separate  being. 

342.  But  not  the  same  happens  with  a  man  with  an 
awakened  reason,  who  enters  into  the  struggle :  a  man 
with  an  awakened  reason,  on  entering  into  the  struggle, 
uses  for  this  his  whole  reason  and  sets  his  aim  in  the 
struggle,  and  so  never  knows  when  to  stop  it ;  and,  having 
conquered,  he  is  carried  away  by  the  desire  for  further 
victories,  evoking  in  the  conquered  hatred,  which  poisons 
his  life,  if  he  is  a  victor,  —  and  if  he  is  worsted,  he  suffers 
himself  from  humiliation  and  hatred.  Thus  a  rational 
man  who  enters  into  a  struggle  with  beings  not  only  does 
not  increase  the  good  of  his  separate  being,  but  even 
diminishes  it  and  puts  in  its  place  sufferings  which  he 
himself  has  produced. 

343.  A  man  who  avoids  struggling,  who  is  meek,  is,  in 
the  first  place,  free  and  can  give  his  forces  to  what  attracts 
him ;  in  the  second  place,  as  he  loves  others  and  humbles 
himself  before  them,  he  evokes  love  in  them,  and  so  can 
make  use  of  those  goods  of  the  worldly  life  which  fall  to 
his  share,  while  a  rational  man  who  enters  into  the 
struggle  inevitably  gives  up  all  his  life  to  the  efforts  of 
the  struggle  and,  in  the  second  place,  by  provoking  re- 
sistance and  hatred  in  otlier  people  through  the  struggle, 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  447 

cannot  calmly  make  use  of  those  goods  which  he  has 
obtained  through  the  struggle,  because  he  must  without 
cessation  defend  them. 

344.  Such  are  the  consequences  of  the  sin  of  the 
struggle  for  the  sinner;  but  for  those  around  him  the 
consequences  of  the  sin  are  in  all  kinds  of  suffering  and 
privations,  which  the  conquered  suffer,  but  chiefly  in 
those  sentiments  of  hatred  which  they  provoke  in  people 
in  place  of  the  natural  or  amicable  brotherly  feeling. 

345.  Although  a  man,  so  long  as  he  is  in  this  life,  will 
never  free  himself  from  the  conditions  of  the  struggle, 
yet,  the  more  he  will  free  himself  from  them  in  accord- 
ance with  his  strength,  the  more  will  he  attain  the  true 
good,  the  more  of  the  worldly  good  will  be  added  to  him, 
and  the  more  will  he  contribute  to  the  good  of  the  world. 

346.  And  so,  to  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  the 
struggle,  a  man  must  clearly  understand  and  remember 
that  both  his  true  spiritual  and  his  temporal  animal  good 
will  be  greater  the  smaller  his  struggle  will  be  with  men 
and  all  other  beings,  and  the  greater  his  humility  and 
meekness  will  be,  and  the  more  he  will  learn  to  submit 
his  other  cheek  to  him  who  will  strike  him,  and  to  give  his 
cloak  to  him  who  takes  away  his  coat. 

347.  In  order  not  to  fall  into  the  habit  of  the  sin,  a 
man  must  begin  by  not  increasing  in  himself  that  sin  of 
the  struggle  in  which  he  is :  if  a  man  is  already  in  the 
struggle  with  animals  or  men,  so  that  his  whole  carnal 
life  is  sustained  by  this  struggle,  let  him  continue  this 
struggle,  without  intensifying  it,  and  let  him  not  enter 
into  a  struggle  with  other  beings,  —  and  he  will  do  much 
for  his  liberation  from  the  sin  of  the  struggle.  If  only 
men  did  not  increase  the  struggle,  the  struggle  would  be 
abolished  more  and  more,  since  there  are  always  men  who 
more  and  more  renounce  the  struggle. 

348.  But  if  a  man  has  reached  the  point  where  he  lives 
without  increasing  the  struggle  with  the  surrounding  be- 


448  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

ings,  let  him  labour  to  diminish  and  weaken  that  state  of 
the  hereditary  struggle  in  which  every  man  is,  when  he 
enters  into  life. 

349.  But  if  a  man  succeeds  in  freeing  himself  from  this 
struggle  in  which  he  is  brought  up,  let  him  try  to  free 
himself  from  those  natural  conditions  of  the  struggle  in 
which  every  man  finds  himself. 

LVIIl.       THE    STKUGGLE    WITH    THE    SIN    OF   FORNICATION 

350.  Man's  destiny  is  to  serve  God,  which  consists  in 
the  manifestation  of  love  toward  all  beings  and  men ;  but 
the  man  who  abandons  himself  to  the  lust  of  love  weakens 
his  forces  and  takes  them  away  from  the  service  of  God^ 
and  so,  by  abandoning  himself  to  sexual  lust,  deprives 
himself  of  the  good  of  the  true  life. 

351.  But  a  man  who  abandons  himself  to  sexual  lust, 
in  whatever  form  it  be,  not  only  deprives  himself  of  the 
true  good,  but  also  does  not  attain  the  good  which  he  is 
seeking. 

352.  If  a  man  lives  in  regular  wedlock,  entering  into 
sexual  intercourse  only  when  there  can  be  children,  and 
educates  his  children,  there  inevitably  follow  sufferings 
and  cares  for  the  mother,  for  the  father  cares  about  the 
mother  and  the  child,  mutual  alienations  and  frequent 
quarrels  between  the  married  pair  and  between  the  par- 
ents and  the  children. 

353.  But  if  a  man  enters  into  sexual  intercourse  with- 
out the  purpose  of  begetting  and  bringing  up  children, 
tries  not  to  have  them,  and,  ha\dng  them,  pays  no  attention 
to  them,  and  changes  the  objects  of  his  love,  the  good  of 
the  separate  being  becomes  even  less  possible,  and  he  in- 
variably subjects  himself  to  sufferings,  which  are  the  more 
violent  the  more  he  abandons  himself  to  the  sexual  passion  : 
there  appear  a  weakening  of  the  physical  and  spiritual 
forces,  quarrels,  diseases,  and  there  is  not  that  consolation 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  449 

which  those  who  live   in  regular    wedlock  have,  —  the 
family  and  all  its  assistance  and  joys. 

354.  Such  are  the  consequences  of  the  sin  of  fornica- 
tion for  the  sinner ;  but  for  other  people  they  consist  in 
this,  that,  in  the  first  place,  the  person  with  whom  the 
sin  is  committed  bears  all  the  consequences  of  the  sin : 
the  privation  of  the  true  and  the  temporal  good,  and  the 
same  sufferings  and  diseases  ;  and  for  those  who  surround 
him  ;  the  destruction  of  the  children  in  the  fcetus,  infan- 
ticide, the  abandoning  of  children  without  proper  care 
and  without  any  education,  and  the  horrible  evil,  which 
ruins  the  human  souls,  prostitution. 

355.  Not  one  living  being  is  able  to  destroy  this 
tendency  in  its  own  body,  nor  can  man,  if  we  do  not 
consider  the  exceptions.  Nor  can  it  be  otherwise,  since 
this  lust  secures  the  existence  of  the  human  race,  and  so, 
as  long  as  the  higher  will  needs  the  existence  of  the 
human  race,  there  will  be  fornication  in  it. 

356.  But  this  fornication  may  be  reduced  to  a  mini- 
mum, and  by  some  people  may  be  carried  to  complete 
chastity.  And  in  this  diminution  and  reduction  of  the 
sin  to  a  minimum  and  even  to  chastity  in  the  case  of 
some,  as  it  says  in  the  Gospel,  does  the  struggle  with  the 
sin  of  fornication  consist. 

357.  And  so,  to  free  himself  from  the  sin  of  fornication, 
a  man  must  understand  and  remember  that  fornication  is  a 
necessary  condition  of  every  animal  and  every  man,  as  an 
animal,  but  that  the  awakened  rational  consciousness  in 
man  demands  of  him  the  opposite,  that  is,  complete  chastity, 
and  that  the  more  he  will  surrender  himself  to  fornica- 
tion, the  less  will  he  receive,  not  only  of  the  true  good, 
but  even  of  the  temporal  animal  good,  and  the  more 
suffering  will  he  cause  to  himself  and  to  other  men. 

358.  To  counteract  the  habit  of  this  sin,  a  man  must 
begin  by  not  increasing  in  himself  that  sin  of  fornication, 
in  which  he  finds  himself.     If  a  man  is  chaste,  let  him 


450  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

not  impair  his  chastity  ;  if  he  is  married,  let  him  remain 
true  to  his  mate  ;  if  he  has  intercourse  with  many,  let 
him  continue  to  hve  so,  without  inventing  unnatural 
methods  of  debauchery.  Let  him  not  change  his  position 
and  increase  his  sin  of  fornication.  If  men  only  did  so, 
all  their  great  sufferings  would  be  destroyed. 

359.  And  if  a  man  has  come  to  a  point  where  he  does 
not  commit  any  new  sin,  let  him  labour  on  diminishing 
that  sin  of  fornication  in  which  he  is :  let  the  one  who  is 
chaste  in  fact  struggle  with  the  mental  sin  of  fornication ; 
let  the  married  man  try  to  diminish  and  regulate  his 
sexual  intercourse.  Let  him  who  knows  many  women, 
and  her  who  knows  many  men,  become  true  to  the  chosen 
mate. 

360.  And  if  a  man  shall  be  able  to  free  himself  from 
those  habits  of  fornication,  in  which  he  happens  to  be, 
let  him  strive  to  free  himself  from  those  inborn  conditions 
of  fornication,  in  which  every  man  is  born. 

361.  Although  but  few  men  can  be  completely  chaste, 
let  every  man  understand  and  remember  that  he  can 
always  be  chaster  than  he  was  before,  and  can  return  to 
the  violated  chastity,  and  that  the  more  a  man,  in  accord- 
ance with  his  strength,  approaches  complete  chastity,  the 
more  he  attains  the  true  good,  the  more  of  the  worldly 
good  will  be  added  to  him,  and  the  more  will  he  oontrib- 
ute  to  the  good  of  men. 


PART   THE    SEVENTH 
OF   PRAYEK 

LIX.      SPECIAL    MEANS    FOE   THE  STEUGGLE  WITH    THE    SINS 

362.  Not  to  fall  into  deception,  it  is  necessary  not  to 
trust  any  one  or  anything  but  one's  own  reason ;  not 
to  fall  into  an  offence,  it  is  necessary  not  to  justify  acts 
which  are  contrary  to  the  truth,  to  life ;  not  to  fall  into 
sin,  one  must  clearly  understand  that  sin  is  evil  and  de- 
prives one  not  only  of  the  true  good,  but  also  of  the  per- 
sonal good,  and  produces  evil  in  men,  and,  besides,  one 
must  know  that  sequence  of  the  sins  in  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  struggle  with  them, 

363.  But  men  know  this  and  none  the  less  fall  into 
sin.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  men  either  do  not  know 
quite  clearly  who  they  are,  what  their  ego  is,  or  forget 
this. 

364.  In  order  more  and  more  fully  and  more  and  more 
clearly  to  know  oneself  and  to  remember  what  man  is, 
there  is  one  powerful  means.     This  means  is  prayer. 

LX.      OF   PEAYEE 

365.  It  has  been  recognized  since  antiquity  that  man 
has  need  of  prayer. 

366.  For  the  men  of  antiquity  prayer  was,  and  it  even 

now  remains  for  the  majority  of  men,  an  address  under 

451 


452  THE   CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

certain  conditions,  in  certain  places,  under  certain  acts 
and  words,  to  God,  or  to  the  gods,  for  the  purpose  of 
propitiating  them. 

367.  The  Christian  teaching  does  not  know  such 
prayers,  but  teaches  that  prayer  is  indispensable,  not 
as  a  means  for  a  hberation  from  worldly  calamities  and 
for  the  acquisition  of  worldly  goods,  but  as  a  means  for 
strengthening  man  in  the  struggle  with  the  sins. 

368.  For  the  struggle  with  the  sins  a  man  must  under- 
stand and  remember  his  position  in  the  world,  and  in  the 
performance  of  every  act  he  must  estimate  the  value  of  it, 
in  order  that  he  may  not  fall  into  sin.  For  either,  prayer 
is  necessary. 

369.  And  so  Christian  prayer  is  of  two  kinds  :  one, 
which  elucidates  to  man  his  position  in  the  world,  —  tem- 
porary prayer,  and  the  other,  which  accompanies  every 
act  of  his,  presenting  it  to  God's  judgment  and  verifying 
it,  — ■■  hourly  prayer. 

LXI.   TEMPORARY  PRAYER 

370.  Temporary  prayer  is  a  prayer  by  means  of  which 
a  man  in  the  best  moments  of  his  hfe,  abstracting  him- 
self from  everything  worldly,  evokes  in  himself  the  clear- 
est possible  consciousness  of  God  and  his  relation  to 
him. 

371.  It  is  that  prayer  of  which  Christ  speaks  in  the 
sixth  chapter  of  Matthew,  when  he  opposes  it  to  the 
wordy  and  public  prayers  of  the  Pharisees,  and  for  which 
he  makes  solitude  a  necessary  condition.  These  words 
show  men  how  they  should  pray. 

372.  And  the  Lord's  prayer,  as  well  as  the  prayer 
uttered  by  Christ  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  shows  us 
how  to  pray  and  in  what  the  true  temporary  prayer 
should  consist,  which,  elucidating  man's  consciousness 
about  the  truth  of  his  life,  about  his  relation  to  God,  and 


THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING  453 

about  his  destinatiou  in  the  world,  strengthens  his  spiritual 
powers. 

373.  As  such  a  prayer  may  serve  a  man's  expression 
in  his  own  words  of  his  relation  to  God  ;  but  such  a 
prayer  has  always  consisted  for  all  men  in  the  repetition 
of  the  expressions  and  ideas  of  men  who  lived  before  us 
and  who  expressed  their  relation  to  God,  and  a  union 
of  souls  with  these  men  and  with  God.  Thus  Christ 
prayed,  repeating  the  words  of  a  psalm,  and  we  pray 
truly,  when  we  repeat  Christ's  words,  and  not  only 
Christ's,  but  also  those  of  Socrates,  Buddha,  Lao-tse, 
Pascal,  and  others,  if  we  live  over  that  spiritual  condition 
which  these  men  passed  through  and  expressed  in  those 
expressions  which  have  come  down  to  us. 

374.  And  so  the  true  temporary  prayer  will  not  be  the 
one  which  will  be  performed  at  definite  hours  and  days, 
but  only  the  one  which  is  performed  in  moments  of  the 
highest  spiritual  moods,  moments  which  come  over  every 
man,  which  often  are  evoked  by  sufferings  or  by  the  prox- 
imity of  death,  and  at  times  come  without  any  external 
cause,  and  which  a  man  should  value, as  his  highest  treasure 
and  use  for  the  greater  and  ever  greater  elucidation  of  his 
consciousness,  because  only  at  these  moments  does  our 
forward  motion  and  approximation  to  God  take  place. 

375.  Such  a  prayer  cannot  be  performed  in  assemblies, 
nor  with  external  actions,  but  by  all  means  in  complete 
solitude  and  in  freedom  from  every  external,  distracting 
influence. 

376.  This  prayer  is  the  one  which  moves  a  man  from 
the  lower  stage  of  life  to  the  higher,  from  the  animal  to 
man,  and  from  man  to  God. 

377.  Only  thanks  to  this  prayer  does  a  man  recognize 
himself,  his  divine  nature,  and  feel  those  barriers  which 
confine  his  divine  nature,  and,  feeling  them,  try  to  break 
them,  and  in  this  tendency  widen  them. 

378.  It  is  that  prayer  which,  elucidating  consciousness. 


454  THE    CHRISTIAN   TEACHING 

makes  impossible  for  man  the  sins  into  which  he  fell 
before  and  presents  to  him  as  sin  what  before  had  not 
appeared  as  sinful  to  him. 

LXII.      HOURLY   PRAYER 

379.  In  his  motion  from  the  animal  to  the  true  and 
spiritual  life,  in  his  birth  to  a  new  life,  in  his  struggle 
with  sin,  every  man  always  finds  himself  in  three  differ- 
ent relations  to  sin :  one  set  of  sins  is  vanquished  by 
man,  —  they  sit  like  captured  animals,  bound  to  then- 
chain,  and  only  now  and  then  by  their  bellowing  remind 
him  that  they  are  ahve.  These  sins  are  behind.  Other 
sins  are  such  as  a  man  has  just  come  to  see,  acts  which 
he  has  committed  all  his  life,  without  considering  them 
sins,  and  the  sinfulness  of  which  he  has  just  come  to  see 
in  consequence  of  the  clearing  up  of  his  consciousness  in 
temporary  prayer.  A  man  sees  the  sinfulness  of  his  acts, 
but  he  is  so  accustomed  to  committing  them,  that  he  has 
but  lately  and  indistinctly  recognized  the  sinfulness  of 
these  deeds  and  has  not  yet  attempted  to  struggle  against 
them.  And  there  is  a  third  kind  of  acts,  the  sinfulness 
of  which  a  man  sees  clearly,  with  which  he  struggles,  and 
which  he  at  times  commits,  surrendering  himself  to  sin, 
and  at  times  does  not  commit,  vanquishing  sin. 

380.  For  the  struggle  with  these  sins  hourly  prayer  is 
needed.  Hourly  prayer  consists  in  this,  that  it  reminds 
a  man  at  all  minutes  of  his  life,  during  all  his  acts,  of 
what  his  life  and  good  consist  in,  and  so  cooperates  with 
him  in  those  acts  of  life  in  which  he  is  still  able  to 
vanquish  the  animal  nature  by  means  of  his  spiritual 
consciousness. 

381.  Hourly  prayer  is  a  constant  recognition  of  the 
presence  of  God,  a  constant  recognition  by  the  ambassador 
during  the  time  of  his  embassy  of  the  presence  of  him 
who  sent  him. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  455 

382.  The  birth  to  new  life,  the  liberation  of  self  from 
the  shackles  of  the  animal  nature,  the  liberation  of  self 
from  sin,  takes  place  only  by  slow  efibrts.  Temporary 
prayer,  in  enlightening  man's  consciousness,  reveals  to 
him  his  sin.  The  sin  at  first  appears  to  him  unimportant, 
bearable,  but  the  longer  a  man  hves,  the  more  pressing 
does  the  necessity  become  of  freeing  himself  from  sin. 
And  if  a  man  does  not  fall  into  an  offence  which  conceals 
his  sin,  he  inevitably  enters  into  a  struggle  with  sin. 

383.  But  with  his  first  attempts  to  overcome  sin,  a 
man  feels  his  impotence :  the  sin  attracts  him  by  the 
sweetness  of  the  habit  of  the  sin ;  and  a  man  is  unable 
to  oppose  anything  to  the  sin  but  the  consciousness  of  the 
fact  that  the  sin  is  not  good,  and,  knowing  that  what 
he  is  doing  is  bad,  he  continues  to  do  what  is  bad. 

384.  There  is  but  one  way  out  of  this  situation.  Some 
religious  teachers  see  it  in  this,  that  there  exists  a  sepa- 
rate force,  called  grace,  which  supports  man  in  his  struggle 
with  sin,  which  is  obtained  through  certain  actions  called 
sacraments.  Other  teachers  see  a  way  out  of  this  situa- 
tion in  the  redemption,  which  was  accomplished  by 
Christ  the  God  in  his  death  for  men.  Others  again  see 
this  way  out  in  prayer  addressed  to  God  about  strengthen- 
ing man's  power  in  his  struggle  with  sin. 

385.  But  none  of  these  means  makes  it  easier  for  a 
man  to  struggle  with  sin ;  in  spite  of  the  grace  of  the 
sacrament,  of  the  faith  in  the  redemption,  of  suppliant 
prayer,  every  man  who  has  sincerely  begun  to  struggle 
with  sin  cannot  help  but  feel  his  whole  weakness  before 
the  mightiness  of  sin  and  the  hopelessness  of  the  struggle 
with  it. 

386.  The  hopelessness  of  the  struggle  presents  itself 
very  forcibly,  because,  having  come  to  understand  the  lie 
of  the  sin,  a  man  wants  to  free  himself  from  it  at  once, 
in  which  he  is  supported  by  all  kinds  of  false  teachings 
concerning  redemption,  the  sacraments,  and  so  forth,  and. 


456  THE   CHRTRTIAK   TEACHING 

feeling  the  impotence  of  the  liberation,  he  at  once  neglects 
those  insignificant  efforts  which  he  can  make  for  freeing 
himself  from  sin. 

387.  However,  as  all  the  great  transformations  in  the 
material  world  do  not  take  place  at  once,  but  by  slow  and 
gradual  falling  off  and  accretion,  so  also  in  the  spiritual 
world  the  Hberation  from  &m  and  the  approach  to  per- 
fection take  place  only  through  the  counteraction  to  sin, 
—  through  the  successive  destruction  of  its  minutest 
particles. 

388.  It  is  not  in  man's  power  to  free  himself  from  a 
sin  which  has  become  a  habit  in  the  course  of  many  years  ; 
but  it  is  entirely  within  his  power  not  to  commit  acts 
which  draw  into  sin,  to  diminish  the  attractiveness  of  sin, 
to  put  himself  where  it  is  impossible  to  commit  a  sin,  to 
cut  off  his  hand  and  put  out  his  eye  which  offend  him. 
And  this  he  should  do  every  day  and  every  minute,  and 
in  order  to  be  able  to  do  this,  he  needs  hourly  prayer. 


PART   THE   EIGHTH 

CONCLUSION 

LXIII.     WHAT  MAY  A  MAN  EXPECT  WHO  LIVES  A  CHRISTIAN 
LIFE    IN    THE    PRESENT? 

389.  There  are  religious  teachiugs  which  promise  men 
who  follow  them  a  full  and  complete  good  in  life,  not  only 
in  the  one  to  come,  but  also  in  this.  There  is  even  such 
a  comprehension  of  the  Christian  teaching.  The  men  who 
understand  the  Christian  teacliing  in  this  manner  say  that 
a  man  needs  but  follow  Christ's  teaching,  to  renounce 
himself,  to  love  men,  and  his  life  will  be  one  continuous 
joy.  There  are  other  religious  teachings  which  see  in 
human  hfe  nothing  but  unending,  necessary  suffering, 
which  a  man  must  bear,  expecting  rewards  in  the  future 
life.  There  exists  such  a  comprehension  also  of  the 
Christian  teaching  :  some  see  in  life  constant  joy,  others  — 
constant  suffering. 

390.  Neither  comprehension  is  correct.  Life  is  not  joy, 
nor  suffering.  It  may  present  itself  as  joy  or  as  suffering 
only  to  that  man  who  considers  his  separate  existence  to 
be  his  ego ;  only  for  this  ego  can  there  be  joy  or  suffering. 
Life  according  to  the  Christian  teaching,  in  its  true  sense, 
is  neither  joy,  nor  suffering,  but  the  birth  and  growth  of 
man's  true  s})iritual  ego,  with  which  there  can  be  no  joy 
and  no  suffering. 

391.  According  to  the  Christian  teaching,  man's  life  is 
a  constant  growth  of  his  consciousness  of  love.    And  since 

457 


458  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

the  growth  of  the  human  soul,  the  increase  of  love,  is 
taking  place  without  cessation,  and  there  is  also  taking 
place  in  the  world  without  cessation  that  work  of  God 
which  is  accomplished  by  this  growth,  a  man  who  under- 
stands his  life  as  the  Christian  teaching  teaches  him  to 
understand  it,  namely,  as  an  increase  of  love  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  kingdom  of  God,  can  never  be  unhappy  or 
dissatisfied. 

392.  On  the  path  of  his  life  there  may  occur  joys  and 
sufferings  for  his  animal  personality,  which  he  cannot  help 
but  feel,  which  he  cannot  help  but  enjoy  or  bear,  but  he 
can  never  experience  complete  happiness  (and  so  he  can- 
not wish  for  it)  aud  can  never  be  unhappy  (and  so  cannot 
fear  sufferings  and  wish  to  avoid  them,  if  they  are  in  his 
way). 

393.  A  man  who  lives  a  Christian  life  does  not  ascribe 
any  great  meaning  to  his  joys,  does  not  look  upon  them  as 
the  realization  of  his  wishes,  but  looks  upon  them  only 
as  accidental  phenomena  which  one  meets  on  the  path  of 
life,  as  something  which  is  naturally  added  to  him  who 
seeks  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness,  and  he 
does  not  look  upon  his  sufferings  as  something  that  ought 
not  to  be,  but  looks  upon  them  as  an  indispensable  phe- 
nomenon of  life  like  friction  in  work,  knowing  likewise, 
that  as  friction  is  a  sign  of  work  performed,  so  sufferings 
are  a  sign  of  the  performance  of  the  work  of  God. 

394.  A  man  who  lives  a  Christian  life  is  always  free, 
because  the  same  that  forms  the  meaning  of  his  life,  —  the 
removal  of  obstacles  which  impede  love  and,  in  consequence 
of  this  removal,  the  increase  of  love  and  the  establish- 
ment of  the  kingdom  of  God,  is  precisely  what  he  always 
wants  and  what  is  irresistibly  accomplished  in  his  life ; 
he  is  always  calm,  because  nothing  can  happen  to  him 
which  he  does  not  wish. 

395.  We  must  not  think  that  a  man  who  lives  a 
Christian  life  always  experiences  this  freedom  and  peace, 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 


459 


always  receives  joys,  without  being  carried  away  by 
them,  as  something  accidental,  without  wishing  to  re- 
tain them,  and  sufferings  as  an  indispensable  condition 
of  the  motion  of  life.  A  Christian  may  temporarily  be 
carried  away  by  joys,  trying  to  produce  and  retain  them, 
and  temporarily  be  tormented  by  sufferings,  taking 
them  as  something  unnecessary,  which  might  even  not 
have  been  ;  but  at  the  loss  of  joys,  at  the  fear  and  pain  of 
sufferings,  a  Christian  immediately  recalls  his  Christian 
dignity,  his  embassy,  and  his  joys  and  sufferings  take  up 
their  appropriate  place,  and  he  again  becomes  free  and 
calm. 

396.  Thus  even  in  a  worldly  relation  the  position  of 
a  Christian  is  not  w^orse,  but  better  than  the  position 
of  a  non-Christian.  "  Seek  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his 
righteousness,  and  the  rest  shall  be  added  unto  you," 
means  that  all  the  worldly  joys  of  life  are  not  kept  away 
from  a  Christian,  but  are  fully  accessible  to  him,  with  this 
one  difference,  that  while  the  joys  of  a  non-Christian  may 
be  artificial  and  may  pass  over  into  satiety,  into  sufferings, 
and  so  appear  to  him  as  unnecessary  and  hopeless,  —  for  a 
Christian  the  joys  are  more  simple  and  more  natural,  and 
so  more  powerful,  never  producing  satiety  or  suffering : 
they  can  never  cause  so  much  pain  and  seem  so  senseless 
as  they  do  to  a  non-Christian. 

Such  is  the  position  of  a  Christian  in  the  life  of  the 
present ;  but  what  can  a  Christian  expect  in  the  future  ? 

LXIV.   WHAT  MAY  A  MAN  EXPECT  IN  THE  FUTURE  ? 

397.  Living  in  this  world  in  his  bodily  integument,  a 
man  cannot  represent  life  to  himself  otherwise  than  in 
space  and  time,  and  so  he  naturally  asks  himself,  where 
he  will  he  after  death. 

398.  But  this  question  is  faulty  :  The  divine  essence  of 
our  soul  is  spiritual,  extratemporal  and  extraspatial ;  be- 


460  THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING 

ing  in  this  life  enclosed  in  the  body,  the  soul,  on  leaving 
it,  ceases  to  be  in  conditions  of  space  and  time,  and  so  we 
cannot  say  of  this  essence  that  it  will  he.  It  is.  Even 
so  Christ  said,  "  Before  Abraham  was,  I  am."  Thus  we 
all  are.  If  we  are,  we  have  always  been  and  shall  always 
be.     We  are. 

399.  Even  so  it  is  with  the  question  where  we  shall  be. 
When  we  speak  of  where,  we  speak  of  the  place  in  which 
we  shall  be.  But  the  idea  of  place  resulted  only  from 
that  division  from  everything  else,  in  which  we  are  placed. 
At  death  this  division  is  destroyed,  and  so  we  shall  be 
everywhere  and  nowhere,  for  the  people  who  live  iu  this 
world.     We  shall  be  such  that  place  will  not  exist  for  us. 

400.  There  exist  many  different  guesses  as  to  where 
we  shall  be  after  death ;  but  all  these  guesses,  from  the 
grossest  to  the  most  delicate,  cannot  satisfy  a  rational 
man.  Bhss,  Mohammed's  voluptuousness,  is  too  gross  and 
palpably  incompatible  with  the  true  concept  of  man  and 
God.  Even  so  the  church  representation  of  paradise 
and  hell  is  not  compatible  with  the  concept  of  a  God  of 
love.  The  transmigration  of  the  souls  is  less  gross,  but  it 
similarly  preserves  the  concept  of  the  individuality  of  the 
being :  the  concept  of  the  Nirvana  destroys  the  whole 
coarseness  of  the  idea,  but  violates  the  demands  of  reason, 
—  the  rationality  of  existence. 

401.  Thus  no  representation  of  what  will  be  after  death 
gives  any  answer  which  could  satisfy  a  rational  man. 

402.  Nor  can  it  be  otherwise.  The  question  is  falsely 
put.  The  human  mind,  which  can  reason  only  in  condi- 
tions of  time  and  space,  wants  to  give  an  answer  to  what 
will  be  outside  these  conditions.-  Reason  knows  but  this 
much,  that  there  is  a  divine  essence,  that  it  grew  in  this 
world,  and  that  having  reached  a  certain  degree  of  its 
growth,  it  left  these  conditions. 

403.  Will  this  essence  continue  to  act  in  severalty  ? 
Will  this  increase  of  love  be  the  cause  of  another  new 


THE    CHRISTIAN    TEACHING  461 

division  ?  All  these  are  guesses,  and  there  may  be  very 
many  such  guesses,  but  not  one  of  them  can  give  any 
ascertainable  truth. 

404.  One  thing  is  certain  and  indubitable,  and  that  is, 
that  Christ  has  said,  "  Into  thy  hands  I  commend  my 
spirit,"  that  is,  dying  I  return  whence  I  came.  And  if  I 
believe  in  this,  that  that  from  which  I  have  come  is 
rational  love  (I  know  these  two  properties),  I  joyfully  re- 
turn to  him,  knowing  that  I  shall  fare  well.  I  not  only 
do  not  grieve,  but  even  rejoice  at  the  transition  which 
awaits  me. 


HELP! 

Postscript  to  an  Appeal   to   Help  the  Dukhobors 
Persecuted  in  the  Caucasus 

1896 


HELP! 


POSTSCKIPT  TO  AN  APPEAL  TO  HELP  THE 
DUKHOBOES  PEPtSECUTED  IN  THE  CAU- 
CASUS 

The  facts  related  in  this  appeal,  composed  by  three  of 
my  friends,  have  been  many  times  verified,  looked  over, 
and  sifted ;  this  appeal  has  several  times  been  changed 
and  corrected  ;  everything  which  might  appear  as  an 
exacTCTeration,  though  it  is  true,  has  been  rejected  ;  thus 
everything  which  is  now  told  in  this  appeal  is  the  real, 
indubitable  truth,  to  the  extent  to  which  the  truth  is 
accessible  to  men  who  are  guided  by  the  one  religious 
sentiment  of  a  desire  by  the  publication  of  this  truth  to 
serve  God  and  one's  neighbours,  both  the  persecuted  and 
the  persecutors. 

But  no  matter  how  startling  the  facts  here  related  may 
be,  their  significance  is  determined  not  by  the  facts  them- 
selves, but  by  how  those  who  will  learn  of  it  will  look 
upon  them. 

"But  they  are  a  kind  of  mutineers,  coarse,  illiterate 
peasants,  fanatics,  who  have  come  under  some  evil  influ- 
ence. They  are  a  dangerous,  anti-governmental  sect,  which 
the  government  cannot  tolerate  and  must  obviously  sup- 
press, like  any  other  doctrine  which  may  be  harmful  to 
the  common  good.  If  children,  women,  and  innocent 
people  shall  suffer  from  this,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  "  people 

465 


466  HELP ! 

will  say,  shrugging  their  shoulders,  without  understan^ng 
the  significance  of  this  event. 

In  general,  to  the  majority  of  men  this  phenomenon 
will  appear  interesting,  like  any  phenomenon  whose  place 
is  firmly  and  clearly  defined :  smugglers  make  their  ap- 
pearance, —  they  have  to  be  caught ;  anarchists,  terrorists 
make  their  appearance,  —  society  has  to  be  made  secure 
against  them  ;  fanatics,  the  Eunuchs  make  their  appearance, 
—  they  have  to  be  locked  up  and  sent  into  exile  ;  viola- 
tors of  the  order  of  state  make  their  appearance,  —  they 
have  to  be  crushed.  All  that  seemed  indubitable,  simple, 
decided  upon,  and,  so,  uninteresting. 

At  the  same  time  such  a  relation  to  what  is  told  in  this 
appeal  is  a  great  error. 

As  in  the  life  of  each  individual  person,  —  I  know  this 
in  my  own  life,  and  anybody  will  find  such  cases  in  his 
own,  —  so  also  in  the  life  of  the  nations  and  of  humanity 
there  appear  events  which  form  the  turning-point  of  a 
whole  existence ;  and  these  events  —  like  that  faint 
morning  breeze,  and  not  storm,  in  which  Elijah  saw  God  — 
are  never  loud,  nor  startling,  nor  noticeable,  and  in  your 
personal  life  you  later  on  are  sorry  tliat  you  did  not  at 
that  time  know  or  guess  the  importance  of  what  was 
taking  place.  "  If  I  had  known  that  this  was  such  an 
important  moment  in  my  hfe,"  you  think  later,  "  I  should 
have  acted  differently."  The  same  is  true  of  the  hfe  of 
humanity.  A  triumpher,  some  Eoman  imperator  enters 
Eome  with  a  rattling  and  a  noise,  —  how  important  this 
seems  !  And  how  insignificant  it  then  seemed  when  a 
Galilean  preached  some  new  kind  of  a  teaching  and  was 
executed  for  it,  together  with  hundreds  of  others  executed 
for  what  seemed  to  be  similar  crimes !  Even  so  now, 
how  important  it  seems  to  the  refined  members  of  the 
English,  French,  and  Italian  parliaments  and  the  Austrian 
and  German  diets,  with  their  aggressive  parties,  and  to 
all  the  promoters  of  the  City,  and  to  the  bankers  of  the 


HELP !  4G7 

whole  world,  and  to  their  organs  of  the  press,  to  solve 
the  questions  as  to  who  will  occupy  the  Bosphorus,  who 
will  seize  a  piece  of  laud  in  Africa  or  in  Asia,  who  will 
come  out  victorious  in  the  question  of  bimetallism,  and 
so  forth !  And  not  only  how  important,  but  also  to  what 
a  degree  insignificant,  so  as  not  to  be  worth  while  speak- 
ing about,  seem  the  stories  of  how  the  Eussian  govern- 
ment has  taken  measures  somewhere  in  the  Caucasus  to 
suppress  some  half-savage  fanatics,  who  deny  the  obli- 
gation of  submitting  to  the  authorities !  And  yet,  how 
insignificant  and  even  comical  in  reality  —  by  the  side  of 
the  enormously  important  phenomenon  which  is  now 
taking  place  in  the  Caucasus  —  are  those  strange  cares 
of  the  cultured  adults  who  are  enlightened  by  Christ's 
teaching  (at  least  they  know  this  teaching  and  might 
be  enlightened  by  it),  as  to  what  country  will  own  this  or 
that  particle  of  the  earth,  and  what  words  will  be  pro- 
nounced by  this  or  that  erring,  blundering  man,  who 
represents  only  the  product  of  surrounding  condi- 
tions. 

There  was  some  reason  why  Pilate  and  Herod  should 
not  have  understood  the  significance  of  that  for  which  the 
Galilean,  who  was  disturbing  the  peace  of  their  district, 
was  brought  before  them  for  trial ;  they  did  not  even 
deem  it  necessary  to  find  out  in  what  his  teaching 
consisted  ;  if  they  had  found  it  out  it  would  have  been 
excusable  for  them  to  think  that  it  would  disappear  (as 
Gamaliel  said) ;  but  we  cannot  help  knowing  the  teaching 
itself,  and  that  it  has  not  disappeared  for  the  period  of 
eighteen  hundred  years,  and  that  it  will  not  disappear 
until  it  is  realized.  And  if  we  know  this,  we  cannot,  in 
spite  of  the  unimportance,  the  illiteracy,  the  inglorious- 
ness  of  the  Dukhobors,  help  seeing  the  importance  of  what 
is  taking  place  among  them.  Christ's  disciples  were  just 
such  unimportant,  unrefined,  unknown  people.  Christ's 
disciples  could  not  be  anything  else.     Amidst  the  Dukho- 


468  HELP ! 

bors,  or  rather,  the  Christian  Universal  Brotherhood,  as 
they  now  call  themselves,  there  is  not  taking  place  any- 
thing new,  but  only  the  germination  of  the  seed  which 
Christ  sowed  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  —  the  resurrec- 
tion of  Christ  Himself. 

This  resurrection  will  certainly  take  place ;  it  cannot 
help  but  take  place,  and  we  cannot  shut  our  eyes  to  the 
fact  that  it  is  taking  place,  simply  because  it  is  being 
accomplished  without  the  firing  of  cannon,  without  military 
parades,  without  fluttering  flags,  fontaines  lumineuses, 
music,  electric  light,  ringing  of  bells,  solemn  addresses, 
and  shouts  of  people  adorned  with  gold  lace  and  ribbons. 
It  is  only  savages  who  judge  of  the  importance  of  a 
phenomenon  by  the  external  splendour  by  which  it  is 
accompanied. 

Whether  we  wish  to  see  it  or  not,  —  now,  in  the  Cau- 
casus, in  the  life  of  the  Christians  of  the  Universal 
Brotherhood,  especially  since  the  time  of  their  persecu- 
tion, there  has  appeared  that  realization  of  the  Christian 
life,  for  which  everything  good  and  rational  done  in  the 
world  is  taking  place.  All  our  structures  of  state,  our 
parliaments,  societies,  sciences,  arts,  —  all  this  exists  and 
lives  for  the  purpose  of  realizing  the  life  which  we  all, 
thinking  people,  see  before  us,  as  the  highest  ideal  of 
perfection.  And  there  are  people  who  have  realized  this 
ideal,  in  all  likelihood  in  part  only,  and  not  in  full,  but 
who  have  realized  it  in  such  a  way  as  we  did  not  even 
dream  to  materialize  with  our  complicated  governmental 
institutions.  How  can  we  help  acknowledging  the  sig- 
nificance of  this  phenomenon  ?  What  is  being  realized  is 
what  we  are  all  striving  after,  and  what  all  our  complicated 
activity  leads  us  to. 

People  generally  say :  such  attempts  at  realizing  the 
Christian  life  have  existed  before  :  there  were  the  Quakers, 
the  Mennonites,  and  all  of  them  weakened  and  degen- 
erated into  common  people,  living  the  common  civil  life. 


HELP !  469 

consequently  the  attempts  at  realizing  the  Christian  life 
are  not  important. 

But  to  say  this  is  the  same  as  saying  that  the  labours 
which  have  not  yet  ended  in  childbirth,  and  warm  rains 
and  sunbeams  that  have  not  immediately  brought  spring, 
are  of  no  importance. 

What  is  important  for  the  realization  of  the  Christian 
life  ?  Certainly  not  by  diplomatic  exchanges  in  regard  to 
Abyssinia  and  Constantinople,  nor  by  papal  encyclicals, 
nor  by  sociahstic  congresses,  nor  by  similar  things  will 
men  approach  that  which  the  world  lives  for.  If  there  is 
to  be  a  reahzation  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  that  is,  the 
kingdom  of  truth  and  goodness  upon  earth,  it  will  be  only 
through  such  endeavours  as  those  which  were  made  by 
the  first  disciples  of  Christ,  then  by  the  Paulicians,  the 
Albigenses,  Quakers,  Moravian  brothers,  Mennonites,  by 
all  the  true  Christians  of  the  world,  and  now  by  the 
Christians  of  the  Universal  Brotherhood.  The  fact  that 
these  labours  are  lasting  long  and  becoming  stronger 
does  not  prove  that  there  will  be  no  birth,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  that  it  is  at  hand. 

They  say  that  this  will  happen,  only  not  in  this  way, 
but  in  some  other  way,  —  through  books,  newspapers, 
universities,  theatres,  speeches,  assemblies,  congresses. 
Even  if  we  admit  that  all  these  newspapers,  and  books, 
and  assemblies,  and  universities  are  contributing  to  the 
realization  of  the  Christian  life,  the  realization  will  none 
the  less  have  to  be  achieved  by  men,  good.  Christian  men 
who  are  prepared  for  a  good,  common  life;  and  so  the 
chief  condition  for  the  realization  is  the  existence  and 
assembly  of  such  men  as  are  already  realizing  what  we 
are  striving  after. 

May  be,  though  I  doubt  it,  even  now  they  will  crush 
the  movement  of  the  Christian  Universal  Brotherhood, 
especially  if  society  itself  fails  to  comprehend  the  whole 
meaning  of  what  is  taking  place  and  will  not  help  them 


470  HELP ! 

with  brotherly  cooperation ;  but  what  this  movement 
represents,  what  is  expressed  in  it,  will  not  die,  cannot 
die,  and  sooner  or  later  will  burst  into  light,  will  destroy 
what  crushes  it,  and  will  take  possession  of  the  world. 
It  is  only  a  question  of  time. 

It  is  true,  there  are  people,  and  unfortunately  there  are 
many  of  them,  who  think  and  say,  "  So  long  as  it  does 
not  happen  in  our  day,"  and  so  try  to  arrest  the  move- 
ment. But  their  efforts  are  useless,  aud  they  do  not 
retard  the  movement,  but  with  their  efforts  only  ruin 
their  own  life  which  is  given  them.  Life  is  hfe  only 
when  it  is  a  ministration  to  God's  work.  In  counteract- 
ing it  men  deprive  themselves  of  life,  and  yet  neither  for 
a  year,  nor  for  an  hour,  are  able  to  arrest  the  accomplish- 
ment of  God's  work. 

We  cannot  help  seeing  that  with  that  external  union 
which  has  now  established  itself  between  all  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  earth,  with  that  awakening  of  the  Christian 
spirit,  which  is  now  manifesting  itself  on  all  the  sides  of 
the  earth,  the  accomplishment  is  near.  And  that  malice 
and  blindness  of  the  Eussian  government,  which  directs 
against  the  Christians  of  the  Universal  Brotherhood  per- 
secutions that  resemble  those  of  pagan  times,  and  that 
remarkable  meekness  and  firmness,  with  which  the  new 
Christian  martyrs  are  bearing  these  persecutions,  —  all 
that  is  a  certain  sign  of  the  nearness  of  this  accomplish- 
ment. 

And  so,  having  come  to  understand  the  whole  impor- 
tance of  the  event  which  is  taking  place,  both  in  the  life 
of  the  whole  humanity,  as  also  in  that  of  each  one  of  us, 
and  remembering  that  the  occasion  for  action,  which  is 
presenting  itself  to  us  now,  will  never  return  to  us,  let  us 
do  what  the  merchant  of  the  gospel  parable  did  when  he 
sold  everything  in  order  to  acquire  a  priceless  gem :  let 
us  discard  all  petty,  greedy  considerations,  and  let  each 
one  of  us,  no  matter  in  what  position  we  may  be,  do 


HELP !  471 

everything  in  our  power,  in  order,  if  not  to  help  those 
through  whom  God's  work  is  being  done,  if  not  to  take 
part  in  this  matter,  at  least  not  to  be  opponents  of  God's 
work,  which  is  being  accomplished  for  our  good. 
Moscow,  December  I4, 1896. 


LETTER  TO  THE  CHIEF  OF 
THE  IRKUTSK  DISCIPLIN- 
ARY   BATTALION 

1896 


LETTER  TO  THE  CHIEF  OF 
THE  IRKUTSK  DISCIPLIN- 
ARY   BATTALION 


October  22,  1896. 

Dear  Sir  :  —  As  I  do  not  know  your  Christian  name 
and  patronymic,  nor  even  your  family  name,  I  am  unable 
to  address  you  otherwise  than  in  this  cold  and  somewhat 
unpleasant  formula,  "  Dear  Sir,"  which  distances  people 
from  one  another ;  and  yet  I  am  addressing  you  on  a 
very  intimate  matter,  and  I  should  hke  to  avoid  all  those 
external  forms  which  separate  men,  and  wish,  on  the 
contrary,  if  not  to  evoke  in  you  toward  me  a  fraternal 
relation,  which  it  is  proper  for  men  to  have  toward  one 
another,  at  least  to  destroy  every  preconception  which 
may  be  evoked  in  you  by  my  letter  and  name.  I  wish 
you  would  act  toward  me  and  toward  my  request  as 
toward  a  man  of  whom  you  know  nothing,  neither  good 
nor  bad,  and  whose  address  to  you  you  are  ready  to  hear 
with  benevolent  attention. 

The  matter  in  which  I  wish  to  ask  you  for  something 
is  this : 

Into  your  disciplinary  battalion  there  have  entered,  or 
shortly  will  enter,  two  men,  who  by  the  Brigade  Court  of 
Vladivostok  were  condemned  to  three  years'  imprison- 
ment. One  of  them  is  Peasant  Peter  Olkhovik,  who 
refused  to  do   military  service,  because   he  considers  it 

475 


476     LETTER  TO  CHIEF  OF  BATTALION 

contrary  to  God's  law ;  the  other  is  Kirill  Sereda,  a  com- 
mon soldier,  who  made  Olkhovik's  acquaintance  on  a 
boat  and,  learning  from  him  the  cause  of  his  deportation, 
came  to  the  same  conclusions  as  Olkhdvik,  and  refused  to 
continue  in  the  service. 

I  understand  very  well  that  the  government,  not  hav- 
ing as  yet  worked  out  any  law  to  cover  the  peculiarities 
of  such  cases,  cannot  act  otherwise  than  it  has  acted, 
although  I  know  that  of  late  the  highest  authorities, 
whose  attention  has  been  directed  to  the  cruelty  aad  in- 
justice of  punishing  such  men  on  the  par  with  vicious 
soldiers,  is  anxious  to  discover  juster  and  easier  means  for 
the  counteraction  to  such  refusals.  I  also  know  full  well 
that  you,  occupying  your  position  and  not  sharing  Olkho-  • 
vik's  and  Sereda's  convictions,  cannot  act  otherwise  than 
to  execute  strictly  what  the  law  prescribes  to  you  ;  none 
the  less  I  beg  you,  as  a  Christian  and  a  goodman ,  to  pity 
these  men  who  are  guilty  of  notliing  but  doing  what  they 
consider  to  be  God's  law,  giving  it  preference  to  human 
laws. 

I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that  personally  I  not  only 
believe  that  these  men  are  doing  what  is  right,  but  also, 
that  very  soon  all  men  will  comprehend  that  these  men 
are  doing  a  great  and  holy  work. 

But  it  is  very  likely  that  such  an  opinion  will  appear 
to  you  as  madness,  and  that  you  are  convinced  of  the 
contrary.  I  will  not  permit  myself  to  convince  you, 
knowing  that  serious  people  of  your  age  do  not  arrive  at 
certain  convictions  through  other  people's  words,  but 
through  the  inner  work  of  their  own  thought.  There  is 
one  thing  I  implore  you  to  do,  as  a  Christian,  a  good  man, 
and  a  brother,  —  my  brother,  Olkhovik's,  and  Sereda's, — 
as  a  man  walking  with  us  under  the  protection  of  the 
same  God  and  sure  to  go  after  death  whither  we  all  go, 
—  I  implore  you  not  to  conceal  from  yourself  the  fact  that 
these  men  (Olkhdvik  and  Sereda)  differ  from  other  crimi- 


LETTER  TO  CHIEF  OF  BATTALION     477 

nals ;  not  to  demand  of  them  the  execution  of  what  they 
have  once  for  all  refused  to  do ;  not  to  tempt  them,  thus 
leading  them  into  new  and  ever  new  crimes  and  imposing 
upon  them  all  the  time  new  punishments,  as  they  did 
with  poor  Drozhzhiu,  who  was  tortured  to  death  in  the 
Voronezh  disciplinary  battalion,  and  who  evoked  universal 
sympathy  even  in  the  highest  spheres.  Without  depart- 
ing from  the  law  and  from  a  conscientious  execution  of 
your  duties,  you  can  make  the  confinement  of  these  men 
a  hell,  and  ruin  them,  or  considerably  lighten  their  suffer- 
ings. It  is  this  I  implore  you  to  do,  hoping  that  you  will 
find  this  request  superfluous,  and  that  your  inner  feeling 
will  even  before  this  have  inclined  you  to  do  the  same. 

Judging  from  the  post  which  you  occupy,  I  assume 
that  your  views  of  life  and  of  man's  duties  are  the  very 
opposite  of  mine.  I  cannot  conceal  from  you  the  fact 
that  I  consider  your  duty  incompatible  with  Christianity, 
and  I  wish  you,  as  I  wish  any  man,  a  liberation  from 
the  participation  in  such  matters.  But,  knowing  all  my 
sins,  both  in  the  past  and  in  the  present,  and  all  my  weak- 
nesses, and  the  deeds  done  by  me,  I  not  only  do  not  per- 
mit myself  to  condemn  you  for  your  duty,  but  also  have 
nothing  but  respect  and  love  for  you,  as  for  any  brother 
in  Christ. 

I  shall  be  thankful  to  you,  if  you  answer  me. 


HOW   TO   READ   THE    GOSPEL 

AND 

WHAT   IS   ITS   ESSENCE? 

1896 


HOW  TO   READ    THE   GOSPEL 

AND 

WHAT   IS   ITS   ESSENCE? 


In  what  is  taught  as  Christ's  teaching  there  are  so 
many  strange,  improbable,  incomprehensible,  and  even 
contradictory  things,  that  one  does  not  know  how  to  com- 
prehend it. 

Besides,  this  teaching  is  not  understood  alike:  some 
say  that  the  whole  matter  is  in  the  redemption ;  others, 
that  the  whole  matter  is  in  grace  which  is  received 
through  the  sacraments ;  others  again,  that  the  whole 
matter  is  in  the  obedience  to  the  church.  But  the  differ- 
ent churches  understand  the  teaching  differently :  the 
Catholic  Church  recognizes  the  origin  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
from  the  Son  and  the  Father  and  the  infallibility  of  the 
Pope,  and  regards  salvation  as  possible,  especially  through 
works ;  the  Lutheran  does  not  recognize  this,  and  regards 
salvation  as  possible,  especially  through  faith ;  the  Greek 
Orthodox  recognizes  the  origin  of  the  Holy  Ghost  from 
the  Father,  and  for  salvation  considers  both  works  and 
faith  to  be  necessary. 

The  Anglican,  Episcopal,  Presbyterian,  and  Methodist 

churches,  to  say  nothing  of  a  hundred  other  churches,  all 

understand  the  Christian  teaching,  each  in  its  own  way. 

I  am  frequently  approached   by  young  men   and  by 

481 


482        HOW  TO  READ  THE  GOSPEL 

people  from  the  masses,  who  have  lost  their  faith  in  the 
truth  of  the  church  teaching,  in  which  they  were  edu- 
cated, asking  me  what  my  teaching  consists  in,  how  / 
understand  the  Christian  teaching.  Such  questions  always 
pain  and  even  offend  me. 

Christ  —  God,  according  to  the  teaching  of  the  church  — 
came  down  upon  earth,  in  order  to  reveal  divine  truth  to 
men  for  their  guidance  in  life.  A  man,  —  a  simple,  fool- 
ish man,  —  who  wants  to  convey  to  people  an  injunction 
which  is  of  importance  to  them,  always  knows  how  to 
convey  it  in  such  a  way  that  the  people  can  understand 
it.  Suddenly  God  came  down  upon  earth  only  in  order  to 
save  men,  and  this  God  did  not  know  how  to  say  what 
he  had  to  say,  so  as  to  keep  people  from  interpreting  it  in 
such  a  way  as  to  diverge  in  the  comprehension  of  it. 

This  is  impossible,  if  Christ  was  God. 

This  cannot  be,  even  if  Christ  was  not  God,  but  only 
a  great  teacher.  A  great  teacher  is  great  for  the  very 
reason  that  he  knows  how  to  tell  a  truth,  that  is  as 
clear  as  dayhght,  so  that  it  is  impossible  to  conceal  or 
shroud  it. 

And  so,  in  either  case,  there  must  be  the  truth  in  the 
gospels  which  give  us  Christ's  teaching.  Indeed,  the  truth 
is  in  the  gospels  to  be  found  by  all  those  who  will  read 
them  with  a  sincere  desire  to  know  the  truth  and  without 
any  preconceived  notion  and,  above  all  else,  without  any 
idea  that  in  them  is  to  be  found  some  special  wisdom, 
which  is  not  accessible  to  the  human  mind. 

I  read  the  gospels  in  this  manner,  and  found  in  them 
an  absolutely  comprehensible  truth,  which,  as  it  says  in  the 
gospels,  can  be  understood  by  babes.  And  so,  when  I  am 
asked  wherein  my  teaching  consists,  and  how  I  understand 
the  Christian  teaching,  I  answer,  "  I  have  no  teaching, 
and  [  understand  the  Christian  teaching  as  it  is  expounded 
in  the  gospels.  If  I  have  written  books  on  the  Christian 
teaching,  I  did  so  only  to  prove  the  incorrectness  of  those 


HOW    TO    READ    THE    GOSPEL  483 

explanations  which  are  made  by  the  commentators  of  the 
gospels. 

In  order  to  understand  the  Christian  teaching  as  it  is  in 
reality,  it  is  necessary,  first  of  all,  not  to  interpret  the  gos- 
pels, but  to  understand  them  just  as  they  are  written. 
And  so,  in  reply  to  the  question  as  to  how  we  are  to 
understand  Christ's  teaching,  I  say, "  If  you  wish  to  under- 
stand Christ's  teaching,  read  the  gospels,  —  read  them  after 
having  renounced  every  preconceived  comprehension,  with 
the  one  desire  to  understand  what  is  said  in  the  gospels. 
But  for  the  very  reason  that  the  Gospel  is  a  sacred  book, 
it  ought  to  be  read  with  understanding  and  analysis,  and 
not  at  haphazard,  in  succession,  ascribing  the  same  mean- 
ing to  every  word  found  in  it. 

To  understand  any  book,  it  is  necessary  to  set  aside 
everything  comprehensible  from  everything  incomprehen- 
sible and  compHcated  in  it,  and  from  this  sifted  compre- 
hensible material  to  form  an  idea  of  the  meaning  and  the 
spirit  of  the  whole  book,  and  then  on  the  basis  of  what 
is  fuUy  comprehensible  to  explain  the  passages  that  are 
incomprehensible  or  complicated.  Thus  we  read  every 
kind  of  a  book.  So  much  the  more  must  we  thus  read 
the  Gospel,  a  book  which  has  passed  through  complicated 
harmonizations,  translations,  and  transcriptions,  composed 
eighteen  centuries  ago  by  uneducated  and  superstitious 
people.! 

Thus,  in  order  to  understand  the  Gospel,  it  is  necessary 

1  As  is  well  known  to  all  who  study  the  origin  of  these  books,  the 
Gospel  is  by  no  means  the  infallible  expression  of  divine  truth,  but 
tlie  product  of  numerous  human  hands  and  minds,  full  of  errors,  and 
so  it  can  in  no  way  be  taken  as  the  production  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  as 
the  churchmen  say  it  is.  If  this  were  so,  God  Himself  would  have 
revealed  it,  just  as  it  says  that  He  revealed  the  commandments  on 
Mount  Sinai  or  by  some  miracle  transmitted  to  men  a  complete  book, 
as  the  Mormons  maintain  about  their  sacred  writings.  We  now  know 
how  these  books  were  written  down,  collected,  corrected,  translated, 
and  so  we  not  only  cannot  accept  them  as  an  infallible  revelation,  but 
are  obliged,  if  we  value  truth,  to  correct  the  errors  which  we  find  in 
them.  —  Author's  Note. 


484       HOW  TO  READ  THE  GOSPEL 

first  of  all  to  sift  in  it  what  is  fully  comprehensible  and 
simple  from  what  is  incomprehensible  and  complicated, 
and  having  done  so,  to  read  what  is  clear  and  compre- 
hensible several  times  in  succession,  trying  to  become 
familiar  with  the  meaning  of  this  simple,  clear  teaching, 
and  then  only,  on  the  basis  of  the  meaning  of  the  whole 
teaching,  to  make  out  the  meaning  of  those  passages 
which  seemed  complicated  and  obscure.  Thus  I  did 
with  the  reading  of  the  gospels,  and  the  meaning  of 
Christ's  teaching  was  revealed  to  me  with  such  clearness 
that  no  doubt  could  be  left.  And  so  I  advise  every  man 
who  wishes  to  understand  the  true  meaning  of  Christ's 
teaching  to  do  hkewise. 

Let  him  who  reads  the  Gospel  underline  everything 
which  to  him  appears  quite  simple,  clear,  and  compre- 
hensible with  a  blue  pencil,  marking,  besides,  with  a  red 
pencil,  these  passages  in  Christ's  own  words  as  distinct 
from  the  words  of  the  evangelists,  and  let  him  read  these 
passages,  which  are  underlined  red,  several  times.  Only 
after  he  understands  these  passages  well,  let  him  again 
read  all  the  other,  incomprehensible,  and  so  previously 
not  underlined  passages  from  Christ's  discourses,  and  let 
him  underhue  in  red  those  that  have  become  compre- 
hensible to  him.  But  the  passages  which  contain  such  of 
Christ's  words  as  remain  entirely  incomprehensible  should 
remain  unmarked.  The  passages  which  are  thus  marked 
in  red  will  give  the  reader  the  essence  of  Christ's  teaching, 
what  all  men  need,  and  what,  therefore,  Christ  said  in  such 
a  way  that  all  might  understand  it.  The  passages  under- 
lined with  blue  only  will  give  what  the  writers  of  the  gos- 
pels said  in  their  own  name  and  what  is  comprehensible. 

It  is  very  likely  that  in  marking  what  is  completely 
comprehensible,  and  what  not,  different  people  will  mark 
different  passages,  so  that  what  is  comprehensible  to  one 
will  appear  obscure  to  another;  but  on  the  main  things 
all  men  will  be  sure  to  agree,  and  one  and  the  same  thing 


HOW    TO    READ    THE    GOSPEL  485 

will  appear  completely  comprehensible  to  alL  It  is  this 
which  is  absolutely  comprehensible  to  all  that  forms  the 
essence  of  Christ's  teaching. 

In  my  Gospel  my  marks  are  made  in  correspondence 
with  my  comprehension. 

Ydsnaya  Polydna,  July  22, 1896. 


THE  APPROACH  OF  THE  END 

1896 


THE  APPROACH  OF  THE  END 


-• — 


This  year,  1896,  a  young  man,  by  the  name  of  Van-der- 
Veer,  was  summoned  in  Holland  to  enter  the  national 
guard. 

To  the  summons  of  the  commander,  Van-der-Veer  re- 
plied in  the  following  letter: 

"thou  shalt  not  kill 

"Me.  Herman  Snijders, 

"  Commander  of  the  National  Guard  of  the  Middelburg 
Circuit. 

"  Dear  Sir :  —  Last  week  I  received  a  document  in  which 
I  was  commanded  to  appear  in  the  magistracy,  in  order  to 
be  enlisted  according  to  the  law  in  the  national  guard. 
As  you,  no  doubt,  have  noticed,  I  did  not  appear  ;  and  the 
present  letter  has  for  its  purpose  to  inform  you  frankly, 
and  without  any  ambiguities,  that  I  have  no  intention  of 
appearing  before  the  commission ;  I  know  full  well  that  I 
subject  myself  to  a  heavy  responsibility,  that  you  can 
punish  me,  and  that  you  will  not  fail  to  make  use  of  this 
your  right.  But  that  does  not  frighten  me.  The  causes 
which  impel  me  to  manifest  this  passive  resistance  present 
to  me  a  sufficiently  important  counterbalance  to  this 
responsibility. 

"  Better  than  the  majority  of  Christians,  do  I,  who,  if 

489 


490  THE    APPROACH    OF    THE    END 

you  so  wish,  am  not  a  Christian,  understand  the  com- 
mandment which  is  standing  at  the  head  of  this  letter,  a 
commandment  inherent  in  human  nature  and  in  reason. 
When  I  was  still  a  child,  I  permitted  myself  to  be  in- 
structed in  the  soldier's  trade,  —  the  art  of  killing ;  but 
now  I  refuse.  More  than  anything  else,  do  I  not  wish  to 
kill  by  command,  which  appears  as  murder  against  my 
conscience,  without  any  personal  impulse  or  any  foundation 
whatever.  Can  you  name  to  me  anything  more  degrading 
for  a  human  being  than  the  commission  of  similar  murders 
or  slaughter  ?  I  cannot  kill  an  animal,  nor  see  it  killed, 
and  not  to  kill  animals,  I  became  a  vegetarian.  In  the 
present  case  I  may  be  *  commanded '  to  shoot  men  who 
have  never  done  me  any  harm :  soldiers  certainly  do  not 
study  the  manual  of  arms,  I  suppose,  in  order  to  shoot  at 
leaves  on  the  branches  of  trees. 

"  But  you  will  perhaps  tell  me  that  the  national  guard 
must  also  and  above  everything  else  cooperate  in  the  main- 
tenance of  internal  order. 

"  Mr.  Commander,  if  there  really  existed  any  order  in  our 
society ;  if  the  social  organism  were  indeed  sound ;  in 
other  words,  if  there  did  not  exist  such  crying  misuses 
in  our  social  relations ;  if  it  were  not  permitted  that  one 
man  should  starve  to  death,  while  another  permits  him- 
self all  the  lusts  of  luxury,  —  you  would  see  me  in  the 
first  ranks  of  the  defenders  of  this  order ;  but  I  uncon- 
ditionally refuse  to  cooperate  in  the  maintenance  of  the 
present  so-called  order.  What  is  the  use,  Mr.  Commander, 
of  pulling  the  wool  over  each  other's  eyes  ?  We  both  of 
us  know  full  well  what  is  meant  by  the  maintenance 
of  this  order:  it  is  the  support  of  the  rich  against  the 
poor  workers  who  are  beginning  to  become  conscious  of 
their  right.  Did  you  not  see  the  part  which  your  national 
guard  played  during  the  last  strike  in  Eotterdam  ?  With- 
out any  reason  this  guard  was  compelled  for  whole  hours 
to  do  service  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  the  property  of 


THE   APPROACH    OF   THE   END  491 

the  business  firms  that  were  threatened.  Can  you  for  a 
moment  suppose  that  I  will  surrender  myself  to  take  part 
in  the  defence  of  men  who,  according  to  my  sincere  con- 
viction, are  supporting  the  war  between  capital  and  labour, 
—  that  I  will  shoot  at  the  working  men  who  are  acting 
entirely  within  the  limits  of  their  rights  ?  You  cannot  be 
so  blind  as  that !  Why  complicate  matters  ?  I  cannot, 
indeed,  have  myself  cut  out  into  an  obedient  national 
guardsman,  such  as  you  wish  to  have  and  as  you  need  I 

"  On  the  basis  of  all  these  causes,  but  especially  because 
I  despise  murder  by  command,  I  refuse  to  serve  in  the 
capacity  of  a  member  of  the  national  guard,  and  ask  you 
to  send  me  neither  uniform,  nor  weapons,  since  I  have  the 
imperturbable  intention  of  not  using  them. 

"  I  greet  you,  Mr.  Commander. 

"  I.  K.  Van  -  der  -  Veer." 

This  letter  has,  in  my  opinion,  a  very  great  importance. 

Refusals  to  do  military  service  in  Christian  countries 
began  as  soon  as  military  service  made  its  appearance  in 
them,  or,  rather,  when  the  countries  whose  power  is  based 
on  violence,  accepted  Christianity,  without  renouncing 
violence. 

In  reality  it  cannot  be  otherwise  :  a  Christian,  whose 
teaching  prescribes  to  him  meekness,  non-resistance  to 
evil,  love  of  all  men,  even  of  his  neighbour,  cannot  be 
martial,  that  is,  cannot  belong  to  a  class  of  men  who  are 
destined  only  to  kill  their  like. 

And  so  true  Christians  have  always  refused,  and  even 
now  refuse,  to  do  military  service. 

But  there  have  always  been  few  true  Christians ;  the 
vast  majority  of  men  in  Christian  countries  have  only 
counted  among  Christians,  those  who  profess  the  ecclesi- 
astic faith,  which  has  nothing  but  the  name  in  common 
with  true  Christianity.  The  fact  that  now  and  then  there 
appeared,  to  tens  of  thousands  entering  military  service, 


492  THE   APPROACH   OF   THE   EKD 

one  who  refused  it,  did  not  ia  the  least  disturb  those 
hundreds  of  thousands,  those  miUions  of  men  who  every 
year  entered  military  service. 

"  It  is  impossible  that  the  whole  vast  majority  of  men 
who  enter  military  service  should  be  mistaken,  and  that 
the  truth  should  be  with  the  exceptions,  who  frequently 
are  uneducated  men,  who  refuse  to  do  military  service, 
while  archbishops  and  scholars  recognize  it  to  be  compati- 
ble with  Christianity,"  said  the  people  of  the  majority, 
who,  considering  themselves  Christians,  calmly  entered 
into  the  ranks  of  murderers. 

But  here  there  appears  a  non-Christian,  as  he  announces 
himself,  and  he  refuses  to  do  military  service,  not  from 
religious  reasons,  but  from  such  as  are  comprehensible  and 
common  to  all  men,  no  matter  of  what  faith  or  what 
nationahty  they  may  be,  —  whether  Catholics,  Moham- 
medans, Buddhists,  Confucianists,  Spaniards,  Arabians, 
Japanese. 

Van-der-Veer  refused  to  do  military  service,  not  because 
he  follows  the  commandment,  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  but 
because  he  considers  murder  to  be  contrary  to  human 
reason.  He  writes  that  he  simply  hates  any  murder,  and 
hates  it  to  such  an  extent  that  he  became  a  vegetarian, 
only  not  to  take  part  in  the  murder  of  animals ;  above 
all,  he  says,  he  refuses  to  do  military  service,  because  he 
considers  murder  by  command,  that  is,  the  duty  of  killing 
those  men  whom  he  is  ordered  to  kill  (wherein  indeed 
military  service  consists),  to  be  incompatible  with  human 
dignity.  To  the  customary  retort  that,  if  he  does  not 
serve,  and  others,  following  his  example,  refuse  to  serve, 
the  existing  order  will  be  violated,  he  answers  by  saying 
that  he  does  not  even  wish  to  support  the  existing  order, 
because  it  is  bad,  because  in  it  the  rich  rule  over  the  poor, 
which  ought  not  to  be,  so  that  even  if  he  had  any  doubts 
as  to  whether  he  ought  to  serve  in  the  army  or  not,  the 
mere  thought  that,  serving  in  the  army,  he  will  by  means 


THE    APPROACH    OF    THE    END  493 

of  weapons  and  the  threat  of  murder  support  the  oppress- 
ing rich  against  the  oppressed  poor,  would  make  him 
refuse  to  do  military  service. 

If  Van-der-Veer  had  brought  forward  as  the  reason  of 
his  refusal  his  belonging  to  some  Christian  denomiuation, 
men  who  entered  military  service  could  say,  "  I  am  not  a 
sectarian  and  do  not  acknowledge  Christianity,  and  so  do 
not  consider  it  necessary  to  act  likewise."  But  the  causes 
adduced  by  Van-der-Veer  are  so  simple,  clear,  and  common 
to  all  men  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  apply  them  to  one- 
self. After  this  to  recognize  these  causes  as  not  binding, 
a  person  wiU  have  to  say,  "  I  love  murder  and  am  pre- 
pared to  kill,  not  only  enemies,  but  even  my  oppressed 
and  unfortunate  compatriots,  and  I  do  not  find  anything 
wrong  in  promising  at  the  command  of  the  first  com- 
mander I  run  across  to  kill  all  those  whom  he  commands 
me  to  kill." 

The  matter  is,  indeed,  very  simple. 

Here  is  a  young  man.  No  matter  in  what  surround- 
ings, what  family,  what  faith,  he  may  have  grown  up,  he 
is  taught  the  necessity  of  being  good  and  that  it  is  bad  to 
kill,  not  only  a  man,  but  even  an  animal ;  he  is  taught 
to  esteem  highly  his  human  dignity,  and  this  dignity 
consists  in  acting  according  to  one's  conscience.  A  Chi- 
nese Confucianist,  a  Japanese  Shintoist  or  Buddhist,  a 
Turkish  Mohammedan  are  all  of  them  taught  the  same. 
Suddenly,  after  he  has  been  taught  all  this,  he  enters 
mihtary  service,  where  the  very  opposite  of  what  he  has 
been  taught  is  demanded  of  him :  he  is  commanded  to  be 
ready  to  wound  and  kill,  not  animals,  but  men ;  he  is 
commanded  to  renounce  his  human  dignity  and  in  mat- 
ters of  murder  to  obey  unknown  strangers.  What  can  a 
man  of  our  time  say  to  such  a  demand  ?  Obviously  only 
this :  "  I  do  not  want  to,  and  I  won't." 

This  is  precisely  what  Van-der-Veer  did.  And  it  is 
hard  to  imagine  what  we  can  retort  to  him  and  to  all 


494  THE   APPROACH    OF    THE    END 

men  who,  being  in  the  same  position  as  he,  must  act  in 
the  same  way. 

It  is  possible  not  to  see  what  has  not  yet  attracted 
attention,  and  not  to  understand  the  meaning  of  an  act  so 
long  as  it  is  not  explained ;  but  once  it  is  pointed  out  and 
explained,  we  cannot  avoid  seeing  it,  or  pretend  that  we  do 
not  see  what  is  quite  clear. 

Even  now  there  may  be  found  a  man  who  has  not 
thought  of  what  he  is  doing  as  he  enters  military  service ; 
there  may  be  found  men  who  wish  for  war  with  other 
nations,  or  wish  to  continue  oppressing  the  working  men, 
or  even  such  as  love  murder  for  the  sake  of  murder. 
Such  men  may  become  warriors,  but  even  these  men  can- 
not now  help  but  know  that  there  are  men,  —  the  best 
men  of  the  whole  world,  not  only  among  Christians,  but 
also  among  Mohammedans,  Brahmins,  Buddhists,  Con- 
fucianists,  —  who  look  with  loathing  and  disgust  upon  war 
and  the  military,  and  the  number  of  these  men  is  growing 
with  every  hour.  No  arguments  can  veil  the  simple  truth 
that  a  man  who  respects  himself  cannot  go  into  slavery  to 
a  strange  master,  or  even  to  one  he  knows,  who  has  mur- 
derous intentions.  In  this  only  does  mihtary  service  with 
its  discipline  consist. 

"  But  the  responsibility  to  which  the  person  refusing 
subjects  himself  ? "  I  am  told  in  reply  to  this.  "  It  is 
all  very  well  for  yoii,  an  old  man,  who  are  no  longer  sub- 
ject to  this  temptation  and  are  secure  in  your  position,  to 
preach  martyrdom ;  but  how  is  it  for  those  to  whom  you 
preach  and  who,  believing  you,  decline  to  serve  and  ruin 
their  youthful  lives  ? " 

But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  answer  those  who  tell  me 
this.  Must  I,  because  I  am  an  old  man,  refuse  to  point 
out  the  evil  which  I  see  clearly  and  beyond  any  doubt, 
simply  because  I  am  an  old  man  and  have  lived  through 
mucli  and  thought  much  ?  Must  not  a  man  who  is  on 
the  other  side  of  a  river  and  thus  inaccessible  to  a  mur- 


THE   APPROACn    OF   THE   END  495 

derer,  and  who  sees  that  this  murderer  is  about  to  compel 
one  man  to  kill  another,  cry  out  to  the  man  who  is  to  kill 
not  to  do  so,  even  if  this  interference  may  still  more  em- 
bitter the  murderer  ?  Besides,  I  fail  to  see  why  the  gov- 
ernment, which  subjects  to  persecution  those  who  refuse 
to  do  mihtary  service,  will  not  inflict  punishment  upon 
me,  since  it  recognizes  me  as  the  instigator  of  these 
refusals.  I  am  not  so  old  as  not  to  be  subjected  to  per- 
secutions and  punishments  of  every  kind,  and  my  position 
does  not  in  the  least  protect  me.  In  any  case,  whether 
they  will  condemn  and  persecute  me  or  not,  whether  they 
will  condemn  and  persecute  those  who  refuse  to  do  mili- 
tary service,  I  shall  never  stop,  so  long  as  I  live,  saying 
what  I  am  saying,  because  I  cannot  stop  acting  in  accord- 
ance with  my  conscience. 

Christianity,  that  is,  the  teaching  of  truth,  is  powerful 
and  invincible  for  the  very  reason  that,  in  order  to  act 
upon  people,  it  canoot  be  guided  by  any  external  con- 
sideratious.  Whether  a  man  be  young  or  old,  whether  he 
be  subjected  to  persecutions  for  it,  or  not,  he,  having  made 
the  Christian,  that  is,  the  true,  life-conception  his  own, 
cannot  depart  from  the  demands  of  his  conscience.  In 
this  does  the  essence  and  peculiarity  of  Christianity  con- 
sist, in  contradistinction  to  all  the  other  rehgious  teachings, 
and  in  this  does  its  invincible  might  lie. 

Van-der-Veer  says  that  he  is  not  a  Christian,  but  the 
motives  of  his  refusal  and  his  act  are  Christian  :  he  refuses 
to  serve,  because  he  does  not  wish  to  kill  a  brother,  he 
does  not  obey,  because  the  commands  of  his  conscience 
are  more  obligatory  to  him  than  the  commands  of  men. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  Van-der- Veer's  refusal  is  especially 
important.  This  refusal  shows  that  Christianity  is  not  a 
sect  or  a  faith,  which  some  men  may  keep,  and  others 
may  not  keep,  but  that  it  is  nothing  but  a  following  in 
life  of  that  light  of  the  comprehension  which  shines  upon 
all  men.     The  meaning  of  Christianity  is  not  in  its  bay- 


496  THE   APPROACH    OF    THE    END 

ing  prescribed  to  men  certain  acts,  but  in  its  having  fore- 
seen and  pointed  out  the  path  on  which  all  humanity  had 
to  walk  and  actually  did  walk. 

Men  who  now  act  well  and  sensibly  do  not  do  so  be- 
cause they  follow  Christ's  injunctions,  but  because  what 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago  was  expressed  as  a  direction 
of  an  activity  has  now  become  the  consciousness  of  men. 

This  is  why  I  think  that  Van-der-Veer's  act  and  letter 
are  of  great  importance. 

Just  as  a  fire  started  in  the  prairie  or  the  forest  does 

not  subside  until  it  has  consumed  everything  dry  and 

dead,  which,  therefore,  is  subject  to  consumption,  so  also 

a  truth  once  expressed  in  words  does  not   cease  acting 

until  it  has  destroyed  the  whole  lie  which  is  subject  to 

annihilation  and  which  surrounds  and  conceals  the  truth 

on  all  sides.     The  fire  glimmers  for  a  long  time,  but  the 

moment  it  bursts  into  flame,  it  soon  consumes  everything 

which  burns.     Even  so  a  thought  for  a  long  time  begs  for 

recognition,  without  finding  any  expression ;  it  need  but 

find  a  clear  expression  in  speech,  and  the  lie  and  the  evU 

are  soon  destroyed.     One  of  the  special  manifestations  of 

Christianity,  —  the  idea  that  humanity  can  live  without 

slavery,  —  though  included  in  the  idea  of   Christianity, 

was  clearly  expressed,  so  far  as  I  know,  not  earlier  than 

the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.     Up  to  that  time  not 

only  the   ancient  pagans,  Plato  and  Aristotle,  but  even 

men  who  were  nearer  to  our  time  and  Christians  could 

not   imagine    human   society   without   slavery.     Thomas 

Moore  could  not  imagine  Utopia  even  without   slavery. 

Even  so  the  men  of  the  beginning  of  the  present  century 

could  not  imagine  the  life    of    humanity  witliout   war. 

Only  after  the  Napoleonic  wars  was  the  thought  clearly 

expressed  that  humanity  can  live  without  slavery.     One 

hundred  years  have  passed  since  the  time  when  the  idea 

was  clearly  enunciated  that  humanity  can  live  without 

slavery,  and  among  Christians  there  is  no  longer  any  slav- 


THE    APPROACH    OF    THE    END  497 

ery  ;  and  less  than  a  hundred  years  will  pass  from  the  time 
that  the  idea  has  been  clearly  enunciated  that  humanity 
can  live  without  war,  and  there  will  be  no  war.  It  is 
very  likely  that  war  will  not  be  fully  abolished,  even  as 
slavery  is  not  fully  abolished.  It  is  very  likely  that  mil- 
itary violence  will  remain,  just  as  hired  labour  remained 
after  the  abolition  of  slavery,  but  in  any  case  war  and  the 
army  will  be  abolished  in  that  coarse  form  which  is  con- 
trary to  reason  and  to  the  moral  sentiment,  and  in  which 
they  now  exist. 

There  are  very  many  signs  that  this  time  is  near. 
These  signs  are  to  be  found  in  the  hopeless  condition  of 
the  governments,  which  keep  increasing  their  armies,  and 
in  the  growing  burden  of  taxes,  and  in  the  dissatisfaction 
of  the  nations,  and  in  the  instruments  of  war,  which  are 
carried  to  the  highest  degree  of  destructiveness,  and  in 
the  activity  of  the  congresses  and  the  peace  societies,  but 
chiefly  in  the  refusal  of  individual  persons  to  do  military 
service.  In  these  refusals  does  the  key  lie  to  the  solution 
of  the  question. 

"  You  say  that  military  service  is  indispensable,  that 
if  it  did  not  exist,  we  should  be  overcome  by  terrible 
calamities.  All  this  may  be  possible,  but  with  that  con- 
ception of  good  and  evil  which  is  common  to  all  men 
of  our  time  and  even  to  you,  I  cannot  kill  men  by  com- 
mand. Thus  if,  as  you  say,  military  service  is  very 
necessary,  make  it  such  that  it  will  not  be  in  such  contra- 
diction with  my  conscience  and  with  yours.  So  long  as 
you  have  not  arranged  it  so,  but  demand  of  me  what 
is  directly  opposed  to  my  conscience,  I  am  not  at  all 
able  to  obey." 

Thus  inevitably  must  answer,  and  soon  will  answer,  all 
the  honest  and  sensible  men,  not  only  of  our  Christian 
world,  but  also  the  Mohammedans  and  the  so-called 
pagans,  —  the  Brahmins,  Buddhists,  and  Confucianists. 
Maybe  war  will  from  inertia  last  for  some  time  yet,  but 


498  THE    APPROACH    OF    THE    END 

the  question  is  already  solved  in  the  consciousness  of 
men,  and  with  every  day,  with  every  hour,  a  growing 
number  of  men  are  coming  to  the  same  conclusion,  and 
it  is  now  quite  impossible  to  arrest  this  movement. 

Every  recognition  of  a  truth  by  men,  or  rather,  every 
liberation  from  some  error,  —  so  it  was  visibly  with 
slavery,  —  is  always  obtained  through  a  struggle  between 
men's  clearer  consciousness  and  the  inertia  of  the  previous 
state. 

At  first  the  inertia  is  so  strong  and  the  consciousness 
so  feeble  that  tlie  first  attempt  at  a  liberation  from  error  is 
only  met  with  surprise.  The  new  truth  presents  itself  as 
madness.  "  How  can  we  live  without  slavery  ?  Who 
will  work  ?  How  can  we  live  without  war  ?  Everybody 
will  come  and  will  conquer  us."  But  the  power  of  con- 
sciousness keeps  growing,  the  inertia  keeps  diminishing, 
and  the  surprise  gives  way  to  ridicule  and  contempt. 
"  Holy  Writ  recognizes  masters  and  slaves.  Such  a  rela- 
tion has  existed  since  eternity ;  and  suddenly  wiseacres 
have  appeared  who  want  to  change  the  whole  world," 
was  what  people  said  of  slavery.  "  All  the  learned  and 
the  sages  have  recognized  the  legality  and  even  the  sanc- 
tity of  war,  and  suddenly  we  are  to  believe  that  we  must 
wage  no  war !  "  people  say  of  war.  But  the  consciousness 
keeps  growing  and  being  clarified ;  the  number  of  men 
who  recognize  the  new  truth  keeps  growing  larger,  and 
ridicule  and  contempt  give  way  to  cunning  and  deception. 
The  men  who  have  been  supporting  the  error  make  it 
appear  that  they  understand  and  recognize  the  incompati- 
bility and  cruelty  of  the  measure  which  they  are  defend- 
ing, but  consider  its  abolition  impossible  at  present,  and 
delay  the  abolition  for  an  indefinite  time. 

"  Who  does  not  know  that  slavery  is  bad ;  but  men 
are  not  yet  prepared  for  freedom,  and  the  emancipation 
will  produce  terrible  calamities,"  they  said  of  slavery 
forty    years    ago.     "  Who    does    not  know    that    war   is 


THE    APPROACH    OF    THE    END  499 

evil  ?  "  But  the  thought  does  its  work,  grows,  and  burns 
the  lie,  and  the  time  arrives  when  the  madness,  aimless- 
ness,  harm,  and  immorality  of  the  delusion  are  so  clear 
(so  it  was  within  our  memory,  in  the  sixties,  in  Eussia 
and  in  America)  that  it  is  impossible  to  defend  it.  So  it 
is  now  in  the  case  of  war.  Just  as  then  they  no  longer 
tried  to  justify  slavery,  but  only  maintained  it,  so  they 
do  not  try  now  to  justify  war  and  tlie  army,  but  only 
keep  silent,  making  use  of  the  inertia,  which  stiU  holds 
up  war  and  the  army,  knowing  very  well  that  all  this 
apparently  powerful,  cruel,  and  immoral  organization  of 
murder  may  any  moment  come  down  with  a  crash, 
never  to  rise  again.  It  is  enough  for  one  drop  of  water 
to  ooze  through  a  dam,  or  for  one  brick  to  fall  out  of  a 
large  building,  or  for  one  mesh  to  come  loose  in  the 
strongest  net,  in  order  that  the  dam  should  be  broken, 
the  building  come  to  its  fall,  the  net  go  to  pieces.  Such 
a  drop,  such  a  brick,  such  a  loosened  mesh  to  me  appears 
to  be  Van-der-Veer's  refusal,  which  is  explained  by  causes 
that  are  common  to  all  humanity.  After  Van-der- 
Veer's  refusal  other  refusals  must  follow  ever  more  fre- 
quently, and  as  soon  as  there  shall  be  many  such 
refusals,  the  same  men  who  but  yesterday  said  (their 
name  is  legion)  that  it  is  impossible  to  live  without  war, 
will  say  that  they  have  for  a  long  time  been  preaching 
the  madness  and  immorality  of  war,  will  advise  you  to 
act  like  Van-der-Veer,  and  of  war  and  the  army,  in  the 
form  in  which  it  now  exists,  there  will  be  left  nothing 
but  a  recollection. 

This  time  is  near  at  hand. 

Ydsnaya  Polydiia,  Se_ptember  24, 1896. 


FAMINE   OR   NO    FAMINE? 

1898 


FAMINE    OR  NO   FAMINE? 


This  winter  I  received  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Sokoldv,  de- 
scribing the  want  of  the  peasants  in  the  Government  of 
Voronezh.     This  letter,  with- a  note  from  me/  I  turned 

iTolsi6y's  note  to  the  editor  of  the  Eussian  Gazette  runs  as  fol- 
lows : 

"Dear  Sir  :  — I  think  tbat  the  publication  of  the  enclosed  private 
letter  from  a  person  who  knows  the  peasantry  well,  and  correctly  de- 
scribes its  condition  in  her  own  locality,  would  be  useful.  The  con- 
dition of  the  peasants  in  the  locality  described  forms  no  exception  ; 
precisely  tbe  same,  as  I  know  full  well,  is  the  condition  of  the 
peasants  in  certain  localities  of  Kozl6v,  El^ts,  Novosilsk,  Ch^rnski, 
Efr6mov,  Zemlyanski,  Nizhnedyevitsk,  and  otlier  counties  of  the 
black  earth  zone.  The  person  writing  the  letter  did  not  even  think 
of  its  being  published,  and  only  consented  at  the  request  of  her 
friends. 

"  It  is  true,  the  condition  of  the  majority  of  our  peasantry  is  such 
that  it  is  often  very  hard  to  draw  a  line  between  what  may  be  called 
a  famine  and  what  a  normal  condition,  and  that  the  aid  which  is  par- 
ticularly needed  in  the  present  year  might  have  been  needed,  even  if 
not  to  such  a  degree,  last  year  or  at  any  other  time  ;  it  is  true,  philan- 
thropic aid  to  the  population  is  a  very  difficvilt  matter,  because  it  fre- 
quently provokes  the  desire  for  making  use  of  this  aid  in  those  who 
could  get  along  without  this  aid  ;  it  is  true,  what  private  individuals 
can  do  is  but  a  drop  in  the  sea  of  the  peasant  distress  ;  it  is  also  true 
that  aid  given  in  the  form  of  eating-houses,  of  the  lowered  price  of 
corn  or  of  its  distribution,  of  the  feeding  of  the  cattle,  and  so  forth,  is 
only  a  palliative  and  does  not  remove  the  fundamental  causes  of  the 
calamity.  All  that  is  true,  but  it  is  also  true  that  aid  given  in  time 
may  save  the  life  of  an  old  man,  or  a  child,  may  change  the  despair 
and  enmity  of  a  ruined  man  into  faith  in  the  good  and  in  the  brother- 
hood of  man.  And,  what  is  most  important,  it  is  an  indubitable 
truth  that  every  man  of  our  circle,  who,  instead  of  thinking  of  noth- 
ing but  amusements,  such  as  theatres,  concerts,  subscription  dinners, 

503 


604  FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE  ? 

over  to  the  Russian  Gazette,  and  since  then  several  per- 
sons have  begun  to  send  to  me  contributions  for  the  aid 
of  needy  peasants.  These  small  contributions  —  two  hun- 
dred roubles  —  I  directed  to  a  good  acquaintance  of  mine 
in  Zemlyanski  County ;  some  monthly  contributions  of 
Smolensk  physicians  and  other  small  contributions  I  sent 
to  Ch^rnski  County  of  the  Government  of  Tula,  to  my  son 
and  my  wife,  requesting  them  to  distribute  the  aid  in  their 
locality.  But  in  April  I  received  new  and  quite  consider- 
able contributions  :  Mrs.  M^vius  sent  four  hundred  roubles  ; 
three  hundred  roubles  were  collected  in  small  sums,  and 
S.  T.  Morozov  sent  one  thousand  roubles,  —  in  all  there 
were  about  two  thousand  roubles,  and,  as  I  did  not  think 
I  had  the  right  to  refuse  to  act  as  a  mediator  between  the 
contributors  and  the  needy,  I  decided  to  go  to  the  spot,  in 
order  to  distribute  the  aid  in  the  best  manner  possible. 

As  in  the  year  1891,  I  considered  the  best  form  of  aid 
to  consist  in  eating-houses,  because  only  with  the  estab- 
hshment  of  eating-houses  is  it  possible  to  provide  good 
daily  food  for  old  men  and  women  and  the  children  of 
sick  people,  which,  I  assume,  is  the  wish  of  the  contribu- 
tors. This  end  is  not  attained  with  the  distribution  of 
provisions,  because  every  good  householder,  having  re- 
ceived some  flour,  will  first  of  all  mix  it  with  the  prov- 
ender of  the  horse  with  which  he  has  to  plough  (and  in 
doing  so  he  will  act  wisely,  because  he  has  to  plough  the 
soil  on  which  to  raise  foodstuffs  for  his  family,  not  only 
for  this  year,  but  also  for  next),  while  the  feeble  members 
of  the  family  will  not  get  enough  to  eat  during  this  year, 
even  as  before  the  distribution,  so  that  the  aim  of  the 
contributors  will  not  be  attained. 

races,  exhibitions,  and  so  forth,  will  think  also  of  that  extreme  want, 
as  compared  with  the  showy  life  of  the  cities,  a  want  in  which  just 
now  live  many,  many  brothers  of  ours,  will,  if  he  tries,  however  awk- 
wardly, to  sacrifice  even  a  small  portion  of  his  pleasures,  unquestion- 
ably aid  himself  in  the  most  important  matter  in  the  world,  —  in  the 
rational  comprehension  of  life  and  iu  the  fulfilment  of  his  human 
destiny  in  it." 


FAMINE    OK   NO   FAMINE?  505 

Besides,  only  in  the  form  of  eating-houses  for  the  feeble 
members  of  the  family  is  there  any  limit  at  which  one  can 
stop.  In  the  personal  distribution  the  aid  goes  to  the 
household,  but,  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  a  ruined  peasant 
household,  it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  decide  what  is 
urgently  needed,  and  what  is  not  urgently  needed  :  urgently 
needed  are  a  horse,  a  cow,  the  release  of  the  pawned  fur 
coat,  the  taxes,  seeds,  a  house.  Thus,  in  making  personal 
distributions  it  becomes  necessary  to  give  arbitrarily,  at 
haphazard,  or  the  same  amount  to  all  alike,  without  any 
distinction.  For  this  reason  I  determined  to  distribute 
the  aid  in  the  form  of  eating-houses,  as  in  the  years  1891 
and  1892. 

In  determining  the  most  needy  families  and  the  number 
of  persons  in  each,  who  were  to  be  admitted  to  the  eating- 
houses,  I  was  guided,  as  before,  by  the  following  considera- 
tions :  (1)  the  number  of  cattle,  (2)  the  number  of  allot- 
ments, (3)  the  number  of  the  members  of  the  family  earning 
wages,  (4)  the  number  of  eaters,  and  (5)  the  extraordinary 
misfortunes  that  had  befallen  the  family,  such  as  fire, 
sickness  in  the  family,  the  death  of  a  horse,  and  so  forth. 

The  first  village  to  which  I  went  was  old,  familiar 
Spasskoe,  which  used  to  belong  to  Ivan  Sergy^evich  Tur- 
ginev.  Upon  talking  with  the  elder  and  some  old  men 
concerning  the  condition  of  the  peasants  of  this  village,  I 
convinced  myself  that  it  was  far  from  being  as  bad  as  had 
been  the  condition  of  the  peasants  among  whom  we  had 
established  eatiug-houses  in  1891. 

On  every  farm  there  were  horses,  cows,  sheep,  and  pota- 
toes, and  there  were  no  dilapidated  houses ;  thus,  judging 
from  the  condition  of  the  Spasskoe  peasants,  I  thought 
the  rumours  about  the  distress  of  the  present  year  might 
be  exaggerated. 

But  a  visit  paid  to  the  next  village  of  Malaya  Gubarevka 
and  to  other  villages,  which  were  pointed  out  to  me  as 
being  very  poverty-stricken,  convinced  me  that  Spasskoe 


506  FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE? 

was  under  exclusively  fortunate  couditions,  through  good 
allotments  and  through  the  accidentally  good  crop  of  the 
year  before. 

Thus,  in  the  first  village  to  which  I  went,  in  Malaya 
Gubarevka,  there  were  four  cows  and  two  horses  to  ten 
farms,  two  families  were  out  begging  alms,  and  the 
distress  of  all  the  mhabitants  was  terrible. 

About  the  same,  though  a  little  better,  is  the  condition 
of  tlie  villages  of  Bolshaya  Gubarevka,  Matsnevo,  Prota- 
sovo,  Chapkino,  Kukuevka,  Giishchino,  Khmyelinki, 
Shelomovo,  Lopashchino,  Sidorovo,  Mikhaylov  Brod, 
Bobrik,  the  two  Kameukas. 

In  all  these  villages  the  people  do  not  get  enough 
bread  to  eat,  but  the  bread  is  pure  and  not  mixed,  as  was 
the  case  in  the  year  1891.  Nor  are  the  people,  at  least 
the  majority  of  them,  without  boiled  vegetables, — 
millet,  cabbage,  potatoes.  Their  food  consists  of  herb 
soup,  whitened  with  milk  if  they  have  a  cow,  and  not 
whitened  if  they  have  none,  and  bread  alone.  In  all 
these  villages  the  majority  have  sold  or  pawned  every- 
thing that  can  be  sold  or  pawned. 

Thus  the  dire  distress  in  the  surrounding  country  — 
in  the  radius  of  seven  to  eight  versts  —  is  so  great,  that, 
after  having  established  fourteen  eating-houses,  we  have 
been  every  day  receiving  requests  for  aid  from  other 
villages  that  are  in  the  same  plight. 

What  eating-houses  are  established  are  doing  well  — 
the  cost  comes  to  about  one  rouble  fifty  kopeks  for  each 
man  per  month,  and,  apparently,  they  satisfy  the  aim  we 
had  in  view  of  supporting  the  life  and  health  of  the 
feeble  members  of  the  most  needy  families. 

Last  night  I  went  to  the  village  of  Gushchino,  which 
consists  of  forty-nine  farms,  twenty-four  of  which  are 
without  horses.  It  was  supper-time.  In  the  yard,  under 
two  penthouses,  which  had  been  cleaned  up,  eighty 
diners  sat  about  five  tables  :  old  men,  alternating  with  old 


FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE?  507 

women,  sat  on  benches  around  large  tables,  and  children 
sat  around  small  tables,  on  blocks  of  wood  with  l)oards 
thrown  over  them.  The  diners  had  just  finished  their  first 
course  (potatoes  with  kvas),  and  the  second  course  —  cab- 
bage soup  —  was  being  brought  in.  The  women  with 
dippers  poured  the  steaming,  well-cooked  soup  into  wooden 
bowls ;  the  eating-house-keeper,  with  a  round  loaf  and  a 
knife  in  his  hands,  went  from  table  to  table  and,  pressing 
the  loaf  against  his  breast,  cut  off  and  handed  out  shces  of 
fine,  fresh,  fragrant  bread  to  those  who  had  eaten  up 
theirs.^  The  householder's  wife  and  one  of  those  who 
dine  there  tend  on  the  adults,  and  the  householder's 
young  daughter  tends  on  the  children. 

The  people  who  were  eating  their  supper  were  for  the 
most  part  emaciated,  lean,  scanty-bearded,  gray-haired, 
and  bald-headed  old  men  in  threadbare  garments,  and 
wizened  old  women.  There  was  an  expression  of  calm 
and  satisfaction  upon  all  the  faces.  All  these  men  were 
apparently  in  that  peaceful  and  joyous  frame  of  mind,  and 
even  in  that  state  of  excitement,  which  is  produced  by 
the  use  of  sufficient  food  after  having  been  deprived  of 
it  for  a  long  time.  One  could  hear  the  sounds  of  eating, 
a  subdued  conversation,  and  now  and  then  the  laughter 
at  the  children's  tables.  There  were  present  two  tran- 
sient mendicants,  and  the  eating-house-keeper  excused 
liimself  for  having  admitted  them  to  supper. 

Everything  proceeded  in  an  orderly  and  quiet  fashion, 
as  though  this  order  had  existed  for  ages.  From  Giish- 
chino  I  went  to  the  village  of  Gny^vishchevo,  from  which 
peasants  had  come  two  or  three  days  before  to  ask  for  aid. 

This  village,  like  Gubarevka,  consists  of  ten  farms.   The 

1  We  had  succeeded  in  buying  on  the  southeastern  road  two  car- 
loads of  flour  at  seventy-five  kopeks,  when  it  was  at  ninety  kopeks 
in  our  place,  and  the  flour  turned  out  to  be  so  unusually  good  that 
the  women  who  set  the  bread  cannot  say  enough  in  its  praise, —  it 
kneads  so  well,  —  and  the  diners  say  that  the  bread  is  just  as  good  as 
cake.  — Author'' s  Note. 


508  FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE? 

ten  farms  have  together  four  horses  and  four  cows ;  there 
are  hardly  any  sheep ;  the  houses  are  all  so  old  and  rick- 
ety that  they  barely  stand  up. 

All  are  poor,  and  all  beg  to  be  aided.  "  If  we  could 
only  satisfy  the  children,"  say  the  women.  "They  ask 
for  pap,  and  there  is  nothing  to  give  them,  and  so  they 
fall  asleep  without  eating  anything." 

I  know  that  there  is  a  grain  of  exaggeration  in  this, 
but  what  a  peasant  in  a  caftan  torn  at  the  shoulder  says 
is  certainly  not  any  exaggeration,  but  the  truth.  "  If  we 
could  just  shove  off'  two  or  three  of  them  from  the  bread," 
says  he.  "  As  it  is,  I  have  sold  my  last  blouse  in  the  city 
(the  fur  coat  has  been  there  for  a  long  time),  and  brought 
home  three  puds  for  eight  people,  —  how  long  will  that 
last  ?  And  I  do  not  know  what  to  take  down  next."  I 
asked  him  to  change  me  three  roubles,  but  not  a  rouble 
in  money  could  be  found  in  the  whole  village. 

It  is  evidently  necessary  to  establish  an  eating-house 
even  here.  The  same,  apparently,  has  to  be  done  in  the 
two  villages  from  which  peasants  came  with  requests. 

We  are,  besides,  informed  that  in  the  southern  part  of 
Ch^rnski  County,  on  the  border  of  Efremov  County,  the 
distress  is  very  great,  and  that  so  far  no  succour  has  been 
offered.  It  would  seem  to  be  obvious  that  the  matter 
should  be  continued  and  expanded,  and  this  is  possible, 
since  of  late  other  considerable  contributions  have  been 
received :  five  hundred  roubles  from  Princess  Kudashev, 
one  thousand  roubles  from  Mrs.  Mansurov,  two  thousand 
roubles  from  dramatic  people. 

But  it  turns  out  that  it  is  almost  impossible,  either  to 
expand,  or  even  to  continue  the  matter.  It  is  impossible 
to  continue  it  for  the  following  reasons:  The  governor 
of  Or^l  does  not  allow  any  eating-houses  to  be  opened, — 
(1)  without  the  consent  of  the  local  curatorship,  (2) 
without  discussing  the  question  of  the  opening  of  each 
individual  eating-house  with   the  County  Council   chief, 


fAMINE   OR   NO   FAMINE?  509 

and  (3)  without  a  previous  statement  to  the  governor 
as  to  the  number  of  eating-houses  that  are  to  be 
opened  in  a  given  locality.  So,  too,  a  rural  officer  has 
come  from  the  Government  of  Tula,  demanding  that 
no  eating-houses  be  established  without  the  governor's 
permission.  Besides,  all  the  local  inhabitants  are  for- 
bidden to  take  part  or  aid  in  the  establishment  of  eating- 
houses  without  the  governor's  permission ;  but  without 
the  participation  of  such  assistants,  who  are  specially 
occupied  with  the  complex  and  troublesome  business  of 
the  eating-liouses,  their  establishment  is  impossible. 
Thus,  in  spite  of  the  unquestionable  distress  of  the  people, 
in  spite  of  the  means  furnished  by  contributors  for  alle- 
viating the  distress,  our  cause  cannot  only  not  be  expanded, 
but  is  in  danger  of  being  completely  interrupted. 

Consequently  the  above  mentioned  sums,  received  by 
me  of  late,  amounting  to  3,500  roubles,  and  a  few  other 
smaller  contributions  remain  unexpended  and  will  be 
returned  to  the  contributors,  if  they  do  not  wish  to  give 
them  for  any  other  use. 

Such  is  my  personal  affair ;  now  I  shall  try  to  answer 
the  general  questions  to  which  my  activity  has  brought 
me,  —  questions  which,  to  judge  from  the  papers,  have 
interested  society  of  late. 

These  questions  are :  Is  there  a  famine  this  year,  or 
not  ?  What  is  to  be  done  that  the  distress  be  not  repeated 
and  may  not  demand  special  measures  for  its  alleviation  ? 

To  the  first  question  I  will  answer  as  follows : 

There  exist  statistical  investigations,  from  which  it 
may  be  seen  that  Eussians  do  not  get  within  thirty  per 
cent,  of  what  a  man  needs  for  his  normal  nutrition ;  we 
have,  besides,  some  information  as  to  this,  that  the  young 
men  of  the  black  earth  zone  have  for  the  last  twenty 
years  less  and  less  satisfied  the  demands  for  a  good  con- 
stitution for  military  service ;  and  the  census  has  shown 


6l0  S' AMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE? 

that  the  increment  of  the  population,  which  twenty  years 
ago  was  the  largest  in  the  agricultural  zone,  has  been 
steadily  diminishing,  until  at  the  present  time  it  has 
reached  zero  in  these  Governments.  But  even  without 
studying  the  statistical  data  we  need  only  to  compare  the 
average  shrivelled-up,  sallow-faced  agricultural  peasant  of 
the  central  zone  with  the  same  peasant  when  he  has  come 
to  be  a  janitor,  a  coachman,  —  when  he  gets  good  food,  — 
and  the  motions  of  this  janitor  or  coachman,  and  the  work 
which  he  is  able  to  accomplish,  with  the  motions  and  the 
work  of  a  peasant  who  lives  at  home,  to  see  to  what 
extent  the  insufficient  food  weakens  the  strength  of  this 
peasant. 

When,  as  formerly  used  to  be  done,  and  even  now  is 
being  done  by  unreasoning  farmers,  cattle  are  kept  for  the 
sake  of  the  manure,  being  fed  in  a  cold  yard  on  anything 
there  may  be,  only  to  be  kept  from  dying,  it  happens  that 
of  all  these  animals  only  those  which  are  in  full  strength' 
endure  the  strain  without  danger  to  their  organism ;  but 
the  old,  the  feeble,  and  the  half-grown  animals  either  die 
off  or,  if  they  remain  alive,  do  so  at  the  expense  of  tlieir 
young  ones  and  of  their  health,  while  the  young  animals 
remain  alive  at  the  expense  of  their  growth  and  their 
constitution. 

In  precisely  this  condition  are  the  Eussian  peasants  of 
the  black  earth  zone.  So  that,  if  by  the  word  "  famine  " 
we  understand  such  underfeeding  that  in  consequence  of 
it  men  are  immediately  assailed  by  disease  and  death,  as, 
to  judge  from  descriptions,  was  lately  the  case  in  India, 
no  such  famine  existed  in  the  year  1891,  or  in  the  present 
year. 

But  if  by  famine  we  mean  such  underfeeding  as  does 
not  lead  immediately  to  death,  but  keeps  men  alive, 
though  they  live  badly,  dying  before  their  time,  becoming 
maimed,  ceasing  to  multiply,  and  degenerating,  such  a 
famine  has  existed  for  twenty  years  for  the  majority  of 


FAMINE    OR    NO    FAMINE?  511 

the  black  earth  centre,  and  is  particularly  severe  this 
present  year. 

Such  is  my  answer  to  the  first  question.  To  the  second 
question,  as  to  what  is  the  cause  of  it,  my  answer  consists 
in  this,  that  the  cause  of  it  is  spiritual  and  not  material. 

Military  people  know  what  is  meant  by  the  spirit  of 
the  army ;  they  know  that  this  intangible  element  is  the 
first  condition  of  success  and  that  in  the  absence  of  this 
element  all  other  elements  become  inactive.  Let  the  sol- 
diers be  well  dressed,  fed,  armed ;  let  the  position  be  as 
strong  as  possible,  —  the  battle  will  be  lost  if  that  intan- 
gible element  called  the  spirit  of  the  army  be  lacking. 
The  same  is  true  of  a  struggle  with  Nature.  The  moment 
the  masses  lack  the  spirit  of  alacrity,  assurance,  hope  of  a 
greater  and  ever  greater  amelioration  of  their  condition, 
and,  on  the  contrary,  are  possessed  by  a  consciousness 
of  the  vanity  of  their  efforts,  by  despondency,  —  the 
masses  will  not  subdue  Nature,  but  will  be  subdued  by  it. 
Precisely  such  is  in  our  time  the  condition  of  all  our 
peasant  class,  and  especially  of  those  in  the  agricultural 
centre.  They  feel  that  their  condition  as  agriculturists 
is  bad,  almost  hopeless,  and,  having  adapted  themselves 
to  this  hopeless  condition,  they  no  longer  struggle  with 
it,  but  live  on  and  do  only  as  much  as  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  demands  of  them.  Besides,  the  very 
wretchedness  of  the  condition  to  which  they  have  arrived 
intensifies  their  dejection  of  spirit.  The  lower  the  masses 
descend  in  their  economic  well-being,  like  a  weight  on  a 
lever,  the  more  difficult  it  is  for  them  to  rise,  and  the 
peasants  feel  this  and,  as  it  were,  let  everything  go  to 
the  dogs.  "  What's  the  use  ? "  they  say.  "  We  don't 
mean  to  fatten,  —  we  just  want  to  live ! " 

There  are  very  many  symptoms  of  this  dejection  of 
spirit.  The  first  and  foremost  one  is  the  complete  indiffer- 
ence to  all  spiritual  interests.  The  religious  question 
does  not  exist  at  all  in  the  agricultural  centre,  not  at  all 


512  FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE? 

because  the  peasant  firmly  holds  to  Orthodoxy  (on  the 
contrary,  all  the  reports  and  all  the  statements  of  the 
priests  confirm  the  fact  that  the  people  are  getting  more 
and  more  inditierent  to  the  church),  but  because  they 
have  no  interest  in  spiritual  questions. 

The  second  symptom  is  their  inertia,  their  unwillingness 
to  change  their  habits  and  their  condition.  During  all 
these  years,  while  in  other  Governments  steel  ploughs, 
steel  harrows,  grass  seeding,  the  planting  of  costly  plants, 
cattle-raising,  and  even  mineral  fertilizers  have  come  into 
general  use,  —  in  the  centre  everything  has  remained  as 
of  old,  with  wooden  ploughs,  three  field  divisions,  cut  up 
by  wolds  of  the  width  of  a  harrow,  and  all  the  methods 
and  customs  from  the  days  of  Rurik.  There  are  even  the 
fewest  migrations  from  the  black  earth  centre. 

The  third  symptom  is  the  contempt  for  agricultural 
labour,  —  not  indolence,  but  limp,  cheerless,  unproductive 
labour,  as  an  emblem  of  which  may  serve  a  well  from 
which  the  water  is  not  drawn  by  a  sweep  or  by  a  wheel, 
as  used  to  be  done  formerly,  but  simply  by  means  of  a 
rope,  with  the  aid  of  the  hands,  and  is  brought  out  in  a 
leaky  bucket,  from  which  one-third  of  the  water  is  lost 
before  it  reaches  the  place  where  needed.  Such  is  almost 
all  the  labour  of  a  black  earth  peasant,  who,  leaving  clods 
of  earth,  manages  somehow  in  sixteen  hours,  with  the 
help  of  a  nag  that  barely  drags  along  her  feet,  to  plough 
up  a  field  which,  with  a  good  horse,  good  food,  and  a  good 
plough,  he  could  do  in  half  a  day.  With  this  the  desire 
to  forget  oneself  is  natural,  and  so  the  use  of  liquor  and 
tobacco  is  becoming  more  and  more  widespread,  and  of 
late  mere  boys  have  taken  to  drinking  and  smoking. 

The  fourth  symptom  of  the  dejection  of  spirit  is  the 
lack  of  obedience  of  sons  to  their  parents,  of  younger 
brothers  to  their  elder  brothers,  the  neglect  to  send  money 
earned  elsewhere  back  to  the  family,  and  the  tendency  of 
the  younger  generations  to  free  themselves  from  the  hard, 


FAMINE    OR   NO   FAMINE  ?  513 

hopeless  life  in  the  country  and  to  find  something  to  do 
in  the  cities. 

As  a  striking  symptom  of  the  dejection  of  spirit,  which 
has  come  about  during  the  last  seven  years,  has  appeared 
to  us  the  fact  that  in  many  villages  adult  aud  apparently 
well-to-do  peasants  begged  to  be  admitted  to  the  eating- 
houses,  and  attended  them,  if  permitted  to  do  so.  That 
was  not  the  case  in  1891.  Here,  for  example,  is  a  case 
which  shows  all  the  degree  of  poverty  and  lack  of  confi- 
dence in  their  own  powers,  at  which  the  peasants  have 
arrived. 

In  the  village  of  Shushmiuo  of  Ch^rnski  County,  a 
landed  proprietress  has  been  selHng  land  to  the  peasants 
through  the  bank.  She  demands  of  them  ten  roubles  per 
desyatina,  dividing  the  sum  into  two  payments  of  five 
roubles  each,  giving  them  the  land  all  sowed  in  and  two 
ch^tverts  of  oats  for  the  summer  sowing.  And  in  spite 
of  these  strikingly  advantageous  conditions  the  peasants 
hesitate  and  undertake  nothing. 

Thus  the  answer  to  my  second  question  consists  in  this, 
that  the  condition  in  which  the  peasants  are  now  is  due 
to  their  having  lost  their  alacrity,  the  confidence  in  their 
strength,  the  hope  of  bettering  their  condition,  —  to  their 
having  become  dejected. 

And  the  answer  to  the  third  question  as  to  how  to 
succour  the  peasants  in  their  wretched  condition  results 
from  this  second  answer.  To  aid  the  peasants,  one 
thing  is  needed,  and  that  is,  to  raise  their  spirit,  to  remove 
everything  which  oppresses  them. 

What  oppresses  the  spirit  of  the  masses  is  the  non- 
recognition  of  their  human  dignity  by  those  who  govern 
them,  the  assumption  that  a  peasant  is  not  a  man,  like 
any  one  else,  but  a  coarse,  irrational  being,  who  must 
be  protected  and  guided  in  every  matter,  and  so,  under 
the  guise  of  caring  for  him,  a  complete  restriction  of  his 
freedom  and  debasement  of  his  personality. 


514  FAMINE    OR    NO    FAMINE? 

Thus,  in  the  most  important,  the  religious  relation, 
every  peasant  feels  himself  to  be,  not  a  free  member  of 
his  church,  who  freely  chooses  or  at  least  recognizes  the 
faith  professed  by  him,  but  a  slave  of  this  church,  who  is 
obliged  without  murmuring  to  carry  out  all  the  demands 
made  upon  him  by  his  religious  chiefs,  who  are  sent  to 
him  aud  put  over  him  independently  of  his  desire  or 
choice.  That  this  is  an  important  cause  of  the  oppressed 
condition  of  the  masses  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  at  all 
times  and  everywhere  the  spirit  of  the  peasants,  when  they 
free  themselves  from  the  despotism  of  the  church  aud 
become  what  is  called  sectarians,  immediately  rises,  and 
immediately,  without  exception,  their  economic  well-being 
is  established. 

Another  pernicious  manifestation  of  this  concern  for 
the  masses  is  the  exclusive  laws  for  the  peasants,  which 
in  reality  reduce  themselves  to  the  absence  of  all  laws 
and  the  full  arbitrariness  of  the  officials  detailed  to  rule 
the  peasants^ 

For  the  peasants  there  nominally  exist  certain  special 
laws,  in  relation  to  the  ownership  of  land,  the  allotments, 
the  inheritance,  and  all  their  obligations,  but  in  reality 
there  is  an  incredible  hodge-podge  of  peasant  decrees, 
illustrations,  common  law,  cassation  rulings,  and  so  forth, 
in  consequence  of  which  the  peasants  quite  justly  feel 
themselves  to  be  in  ab.solute  dependence  on  the  arbitrari- 
ness of  their  innumerable  superiors. 

Now  the  peasants  recognize  as  their  superiors,  not  only 
the  hundred-man,  the  elder,  the  township  chief,  and  the 
scribe,  but  also  the  rural  judge,  and  the  rural  officer,  and 
the  rural  magistrate,  and  the  insurance  agent,  and  the 
civil  engineer,  and  the  mediator  in  the  allotments,  and 
the  veterinary  surgeon,  and  his  assistant,  and  the  doctor, 
and  the  priest,  and  the  judge,  and  the  investigating  magis- 
trate, and  every  official,  and  even  the  landed  proprietor, — 
every  gentleman,  because  he  knows  from  experience  that 


FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE  ?  515 

every  such  gentleman  may  do  with  him  what  he  pleases. 
But  what  most  dejects  the  spirits  of  the  masses,  though 
this  is  not  visible,  is  the  disgraceful  torture  with  rods, — 
disgraceful,  of  course,  not  to  its  victims,  hut  to  its  par- 
ticipants and  instigators,  —  wliich,  like  the  sword  of 
Damocles,  hangs  over  every  peasant. 

Thus,  in  reply  to  the  three  questions  put  in  the  begin- 
ning, as  to  whether  there  is  any  famine  or  not,  what  is 
the  cause  of  the  people's  distress,  and  what  ought  to  be 
done,  in  order  to  succour  this  distress,  my  answers  are 
as  follows :  there  is  no  famine,  but  a  chronic  underfeeding 
of  the  whole  population,  which  has  been  lasting  for  twenty 
years  and  is  getting  worse  all  the  time,  and  which  is  par- 
ticularly noticeable  this  year,  in  connection  with  the  poor 
crops  of  last  year,  and  which  will  be  even  worse  than 
that  of  last  year.  There  is  no  famine,  but  a  far  worse 
condition.  It  is  as  though  a  physician,  upon  being  asked 
whether  the  patient  has  the  typhus,  should  answer,  "  No, 
he  has  no  typhus,  —  he  has  rapidly  developing  consump- 
tion." 

My  answer  to  the  second  question  consists  in  this,  that 
the  cause  of  the  wretchedness  of  the  people's  condition  is 
not  of  a  material,  but  of  a  spiritual  nature,  that  the  chief 
cause  is  their  dejection  of  spirit,  so  that,  so  long  as  the 
masses  will  not  be  uplifted  in  spirit,  they  will  not  be 
aided  by  any  external  measures,  nor  by  the  ministry 
of  agriculture  and  all  its  inventions,  nor  by  exhibitions, 
nor  by  agricultural  schools,  nor  by  the  change  of  the  tariff, 
nor  by  the  abolition  of  the  emancipation  ]\ayments  (which 
ought  to  have  been  done  long  ago,  since  the  peasants  have 
long  ago  paid  more  than  what  they  have  borrowed,  if  the 
present  rate  of  percentage  be  applied),  nor  by  the  removal 
of  duties  from  iron  and  machinery,  nor  by  the  now  favour- 
ite, approved  remedy  for  all  diseases,  —  the  parish  schools, 
—  they  will  not  be  aided  by  anything,  if  the  condition  of 
their  mind  remains  the  same.    I  do  not  say  that  all  these 


516  FAMINE    OK   NO   FAMINE? 

measures  are  not  useful;  but  they  become  useful  only 
when  the  spirit  of  the  masses  is  uphfted  and  the  masses 
are  consciously  and  freely  desirous  of  using  them. 

My  answer  to  the  third  question  —  as  to  what  to  do 
in  order  that  this  distress  may  not  be  repeated  —  consists 
in  this,  that  it  is  necessary,  I  do  not  say  to  respect,  but 
to  stop  despising  and  insulting  the  masses  by  treating 
them  as  beasts;  it  is  necessary  to  give  them  freedom 
of  belief ;  it  is  necessary  to  submit  them  to  general,  and 
and  not  especial  laws,  —  not  to  the  arbitrariness  of  County 
Council  chiefs ;  it  is  necessary  to  give  them  freedom  of 
study,  freedom  of  reading,  freedom  of  migration,  and, 
above  all,  to  take  off  that  disgi-aceful  brand,  which  lies 
upon  the  past  and  the  present  reigns,  —  the  permission  to 
practise  that  savage  torture,  the  flogging  of  adults  for  no 
other  reason  than  that  they  belong  to  the  peasant  class. 

If  I  were  told,  "  You  mean  the  good  of  the  masses,  so 
choose  one  of  these  two  things, — give  all  the  ruined  peo- 
ple three  horses,  two  cows,  three  manured  desyatiuas,  and 
a  stone  house  for  every  farm,  or  only  the  freedom  of 
religious  instruction,  and  migration,  and  the  abohtion  of  all 
the  special  laws,"  I  should  without  hesitancy  choose  the 
second,  liecause  I  am  convinced  that,  no  matter  what 
material  benefits  are  conferred  on  the  peasants,  while  they 
are  left  with  the  same  clergy,  the  same  parish  schools, 
the  same  Crown  saloons,  the  same  army  of  officials,  who 
pretend  to  be  concerned  for  their  well-being,  they  will 
in  twenty  years  again  have  spent  everything  and  will  be 
left  as  poor  as  they  were.  But  if  the  peasants  are  freed 
from  all  trammels  and  all  humiliations  which  oppress 
them,  they  will  in  twenty  years  acquire  that  wealth  which 
is  offered  them,  and  much  more  than  that. 

The  reason  I  think  so  is,  in  the  first  place,  because  I 
have  always  found  more  intelligence  and  actual  knowl- 
edge, such  as  men  need,  among  the  peasants  than  among 
the  officials,  and  so  I  think  that  the  peasants  will  dis- 


FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE?  517 

cover  more  quickly  and  in  a  better  way  what  they  need 
most ;  in  the  second  place,  because  the  peasants,  whose 
welfare  is  the  subject  of  concern,  know  better  what  it 
consists  in  than  the  officials,  who  more  than  anything 
else  are  concerned  for  the  payment  of  their  salaries ;  and, 
in  the  third  place,  because  the  experience  of  life  shows 
constantly  and  without  fail  that  the  more  the  peasants 
are  subjected  to  the  influence  of  officials,  as  is  the  case  at 
the  centres,  the  more  do  they  become  impoverished,  and, 
on  the  contrary,  the  farther  the  peasants  live  away  from 
officials,  as,  for  example,  in  Siberia,  in  the  Governments 
of  Samara,  Orenburg,  ^  yatka,  Vologda,  Olonetsk,  the 
greater,  without  exception,  is  their  welfare. 

Such  are  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  which  my  famil- 
iarity with  the  distress  of  the  peasants  has  evoked  in  me, 
and  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  give  expression  to  them, 
in  order  that  sincere  people,  who  really  want  to  repay  the 
masses  for  everything  which  we  have  been  receiving  from 
them,  might  not  waste  their  efforts  in  vain  upon  an  activ- 
ity of  secondary  importance,  which  frequently  is  false,  but 
might  use  all  their  efforts  upon  that  without  which  no  aid 
can  be  effective,  —  upon  the  abolition  of  everything  which 
crushes  the  spirit  of  the  masses  and  upon  the  establish- 
ment of  everything  which  might  arouse  it. 

May  26, 1898. 

Before  sending  off  this  article,  I  decided  to  go  down  to 
Efr^mov  County  to  visit  some  of  the  localities,  of  whose 
wretchedness  I  had  heard  from  people  who  inspired  the 
fullest  confidence. 

On  my  way  down  I  had  to  cross  the  whole  length  of 
Chernski  County.  The  crop  of  rye  in  the  locality  in 
which  I  lived,  that  is,  in  the  northern  part  of  Chernski 
and  Mts^nski  Counties,  has  been  very  poor  this  year,  worse 
than  last,  but  what  I  saw  on  my  way  to  Efr^mov  County 
surpassed  all  my  most  sombre  expectations. 


618  FAMINE    OR   NO    FAMINE? 

The  locality  which  I  traversed,  —  about  thirty-five 
versts  in  length,  —  from  Gremyachevo  to  the  borders  of 
Efr^mov  and  Bogoroditsk  Counties,  and  for  about  twenty 
versts  in  width,  as  I  have  been  told,  a  terrible  calamity 
awaits  the  peasants  in  this  year  and  in  next.  The  rye 
on  the  whole  extent  of  this  quadrangle,  amounting  to 
about  one  hundred  thousand  desyatinas,  is  completely  lost. 
As  I  travelled  a  verst,  two,  ten,  twenty  versts,  I  saw  on 
both  sides  of  the  road  nothing  but  orache  on  the  land  of 
the  proprietors,  and  even  no  orache  on  the  land  of  the 
peasants.  Thus  the  condition  of  the  peasants  of  this 
locality  during  next  year  (and  I  have  been  told  that  the 
rye  was  a  complete  failure  in  other  localities  as  well)  will 
be  incomparably  worse  than  this  year. 

I  am  speaking  only  of  the  condition  of  the  peasants,  and 
not  of  that  of  the  agriculturists  in  general,  because  it  is 
only  for  the  peasants,  who  live  directly  on  the  corn,  espe- 
cially on  the  rye,  of  their  fields,  that  the  failure  of  the  rye 
crop  has  a  decisive  significance,  as  a  question  of  life  and 
death. 

The  moment  a  peasant  has  an  insufficiency  of  his  own 
corn  for  the  whole  house,  or  for  a  large  part  of  it,  and 
corn  is  expensive,  as  in  the  present  year  (at  about  a 
rouble),  his  condition  threatens  to  become  desperate,  like 
the  condition,  let  us  say,  of  an  official  who  has  lost  his 
place  and  salary,  and  who  continues  to  support  his  family 
in  the  city. 

To  exist,  an  official  without  a  salary  must  either  spend 
his  provisions  or  sell  his  chattels,  and  every  day  of  his 
life  brings  him  nearer  to  complete  ruin.  Even  so  a  peasant, 
who  is  obliged  to  purchase  expensive  corn  above  a  certain 
amount  that  is  secured  by  a  definite  income,  is  doomed, 
but  with  this  diiference,  that,  while  an  official,  falling 
lower  and  lower,  is  not  during  his  lifetime  deprived  of 
the  chance  of  getting  another  place  and  improving  his 
condition,  a  peasant,  in  losing  his  horse,  his  field,  his  seed. 


FAMINE    OR    NO    FAMINE?  519 

is  absolutely  deprived  of  the  possibility  of  bettering  his 
condition. 

In  such  a  threatening  condition  are  the  majority  of  the 
peasants  of  tliis  locality ;  but  next  year  this  condition 
will  not  merely  be  threatening,  —  for  the  majority  noth- 
ing but  ruin  will  ensue. 

And  so  aid,  both  from  the  government  and  from  pri- 
vate sources,  will  be  indispensable  during  next  year,  and 
yet,  just  now,  the  most  energetic  measures  are  being  taken 
in  the  Governments  of  Or^l  and  Ryazan,  and  elsewhere, 
for  counteracting  all  private  endeavour  in  any  form  what- 
soever. It  is  evident  that  these  measures  are  meant  to 
be  universal  and  constant.  Thus,  in  Efremov  County, 
whither  I  went,  no  outsiders  whatsoever  are  allowed  to 
furnish  aid  to  the  needy.  A  bakery,  which  had  been 
opened  by  a  person  who  arrived  with  contributions  from 
the  Free  Economic  Society,  was  closed,  and  the  person 
himself  was  sent  away,  as  had  been  other  persons  who 
had  come  there  before  him.  It  is  assumed  that  there  is 
no  distress  in  this  county  and  that  no  aid  is  needed. 
Thus,  though  I  could  not  for  personal  reasons  carry  out 
my  desire  and  visit  Efremov  County,  my  travel  thither 
would  have  been  useless  and  would  have  produced  unnec- 
essary complications. 

In  Ch^rnski  County  the  following  took  place  during 
my  absence,  as  my  son  told  me  :  the  police  authorities,  ar- 
riving in  a  village  where  there  were  eating-houses,  forbade 
the  peasants  to  go  for  their  dinners  and  suppers  to  the 
eating-houses ;  to  be  sure  of  the  execution  of  their  order, 
the  tables  on  which  people  dined  were  broken  up,  and  the 
police  authorities  calmly  went  away,  without  giving 
the  hungry  people  anything  in  place  of  the  piece  of  bread 
which  was  taken  from  them,  except  the  command  of  un- 
conditional obedience.  It  is  hard  to  make  out  what  is 
going  on  in  the  heads  and  hearts  of  others,  of  those  people 
who  consider  it  necessary  to  prescribe  such  measures  and 


520  FAMIKE    OR    NO    FAMINE  ? 

to  execute  them,  that  is,  who  verily  do  not  know  what 
they  do,  —  to  take  the  bread  of  ahiis  out  of  the  mouths 
of  the  hungry  and  sick,  of  old  men  and  children.  I 
know  those  considerations  which  are  brought  forward  in 
defence  of  these  measures :  "  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
necessary  to  prove  that  the  condition  of  the  population 
entrusted  to  our  care  is  not  so  bad  as  the  people  of  the 
opposite  party  wish  to  represent ;  in  the  second  place, 
every  institution  (eating-houses  and  bakeries  are  institu- 
tions) must  be  subjected  to  the  control  of  the  government, 
though  there  was  no  such  control  in  the  years  1891  and 
1892;  in  the  third  place,  the  direct  and  close  relations  of 
people  who  are  aidmg  the  masses  may  evoke  in  them 
undesirable  thoughts  and  sentiments."  But  all  these  con- 
siderations, even  if  they  were  true,  —  they  are  all  false,  — 
are  so  trifling  and  insignificant  that  they  can  have  no 
meaning  in  comparison  with  what  is  done  by  the  eating- 
houses  and  the  bakeries  that  distribute  bread  to  the 
needy. 

The  whole  matter  stands  like  this:  there  are  certain 
people  who  —  we  shall  not  say,  are  dying,  but  are  in 
want ;  there  are  others,  who  live  in  abundance,  and  who 
from  a  kind  heart  give  this  abundance  to  others;  there 
are  still  others  who  wish  to  be  mediators  between  the 
two  and  who  give  their  labour  for  this  purpose. 

Can  such  activities  be  harmful  to  any  one  ?  and  can  it 
be  part  of  the  government's  duty  to  counteract  them  ? 

I  can  understand  why  the  soldier  on  guard  in  the  Boro- 
vitski  Gate  should  have  kept  me  from  giving  anything  to 
a  mendicant,  and  why  he  paid  no  attention  to  my  reference 
to  the  Gospel,  asking  me  whether  I  had  read  the  military 
regulations ;  but  a  governmental  institution  cannot  ignore 
the  Gospel  and  the  demands  of  the  most  primitive  moral- 
ity, that  is,  that  men  should  aid  other  men.  A  govern- 
ment exists  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  should  remove 
everything  which  interferes  with  such  aid. 


JP AMINE    Oil   NO    FAMINE?  521 

Thus  the  government  has  no  grounds  whatsoever  for 
counteracting  such  an  activity.  And  if  the  falsely  directed 
organs  of  the  government  should  demand  submission  to 
such  a  prohibition,  it  behooves  every  private  individual 
not  to  submit  to  such  a  demand. 

When  the  rural  judge,  who  came  to  us,  told  me  that  it 
would  not  be  much  for  me  to  petition  the  governor  for 
the  permission  to  establish  eating-houses,  I  answered  him 
that  I  could  not  do  so,  because  I  did  not  know  such  a  law 
as  would  prohibit  the  establishment  of  eating-houses : 
and  if  there  existed  such,  I  could  not  submit  to  it,  be- 
cause, in  submitting  to  such  a  law,  I  might  to-morrow 
be  put  to  the  necessity  of  submitting  to  the  prohibition  of 
distributing  flour  or  giving  alms  without  the  permission 
of  the  government,  whereas  the  right  to  give  alms  has 
been  established  by  the  highest  authority  and  could  not 
be  put  aside  by  any  other  authority. 

It  is  possible  to  close  the  eating-houses  and  bakeries, 
and  send  away  from  the  county  those  men  who  came  to 
succour  the  population,  but  it  is  impossible  to  keep  the 
men  who  have  been  sent  away  from  one  county  from 
living  in  another  with  their  friends  or  in  a  peasant  hut 
and  serving  the  people  by  any  other  means,  still  continu- 
ing to  give  their  means  and  labours  in  the  service  of  the 
people.  It  is  impossible  to  fence  off  one  class  of  people 
from  another.  Every  attempt  at  such  a  fencing  off  pro- 
duces the  same  consequences  which  this  fencing  off  in- 
tends to  avoid. 

It  is  impossible  to  break  up  the  intercourse  among 
people  :  it  is  only  possible  to  impair  the  regular  current 
of  this  intercourse  and  to  give  it  a  harmful  direction, 
where  it  might  have  been  beneficent.  What  can  succour 
the  people  in  the  present,  as  in  any  other  human  calamity, 
is  only  the  spiritual  elevation  of  the  people  (by  the  people 
I  do  not  mean  the  peasants  alone,  but  all  the  working 
people  and  the  wealthy  classes  as  well) ;  but  the  elevation 


522  FAMINE    OR    NO    FAMINE  ? 

of  the  people  can  take  place  in  only  one  direction,  —  in  a 
greater  and  ever  greater  union  of  the  people,  and  so,  to 
aid  the  masses,  this  union  has  to  he  encouraged,  and  not 
interfered  with.  Only  in  such  a  greater  fraternal  union 
than  before  will  the  present  and  the  expected  calamity  of 
the  next  year  be  overcome,  and  the  well-being  of  the 
decaying  and  ever  more  decaying  peasantry  be  raised, 
and  the  repetition  of  the  distresses  of  the  years  1891  and 
1892  and  of  the  present  year  be  averted. 
June  4,  1898. 


ON  THE    RELATION   TO   THE 

STATE 

1894- 1896 


ON    THE   RELATION   TO   THE 

STATE 


THREE  LETTERS 


LETTER   TO  EUGEN  HEINEICH  SCHMITT 

You  write  that  people  absolutely  fail  to  see  that  the  ful- 
filment of  any  service  to  the  state  is  incompatible  with 
Christianity. 

Even  so,  people  failed  for  a  long  time  to  see  that  the 
indulgencies,  the  Inquisition,  slavery,  tortures  were  incom- 
patible with  Christianity ;  but  the  time  came  when  this 
was  evident,  as  the  time  will  come  when  it  will  be  plain, 
at  first,  that  Christianity  is  incompatible  with  military 
service  (this  is  beginning  even  now),  and  later,  that  it  is 
incompatible  with  any  service  to  the  state. 

As  far  back  as  fifty  years  ago  a  little-known,  but  very 
remarkable  American  author,  Thoreau,  not  only  clearly 
enunciated  this  incompatibility  in  his  beautiful  article  on 
the  duty  of  a  man  not  to  obey  the  government,  but  also 
in  practice  showed  an  example  of  this  disobedience.  He 
refused  to  pay  the  taxes  demanded  of  him,  as  he  did  not 
wish  to  be  an  abettor  and  accomplice  of  a  state  that  legal- 
ized slavery,  and  was  put  in  prison  for  it. 

52& 


526     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

Thoreau  refused  to  pay  the  taxes  to  the  state.  Naturally 
a  man  may  on  the  same  ground  refuse  to  serve  the  state, 
as  you  beautifully  expressed  it  in  your  letter  to  the  minis- 
ter, when  you  said  that  you  did  not  consider  it  compatible 
with  moral  dignity  to  give  your  labour  to  an  institution 
which  serves  as  the  representative  of  legalized  murder  and 
rapine. 

Thoreau,  I  think,  was  the  first  to  say  so  fifty  years 
ago.  At  that  time  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  this  his 
refusal  and  article,  —  they  seemed  so  strange.  The  refusal 
was  explained  on  the  ground  of  eccentricity.  Your  re- 
fusal already  provokes  discussion  and,  as  always  at  the 
enunciation  of  new  truths,  double  amazement,  —  wonder- 
ment at  hearing  a  man  say  such  strange  things,  and,  after 
that,  wonderment  at  this  :  "  Why  did  not  I  come  to  think 
of  what  this  man  speaks,  —  it  is  so  plain  and  unquestion- 
able ? " 

Truths  like  these,  that  a  Christian  cannot  be  a  military 
man,  that  is,  a  murderer,  that  he  cannot  be  the  servant 
of  an  institution  which  maintains  itself  by  violence  and 
murder,  are  so  unquestionable,  simple,  and  incontestable, 
that,  for  people  to  make  them  their  own,  there  is  no  need 
of  reflections,  or  proof,  or  eloquence,  but  only  of  repetition 
without  cessation,  so  that  the  majority  of  men  may  hear 
and  understand  them. 

The  truths  that  a  Christian  cannot  be  a  participant  in 
murder,  or  serve  and  receive  a  salary,  which  is  forcibly 
collected  from  the  poor  by  the  leaders  in  murder,  are  so 
simple  and  so  incontestable  that  any  one  who  hears  them 
cannot  help  but  agree  with  them ;  and  if,  having  heard 
them,  he  continues  to  act  contrary  to  these  truths,  he  does 
so  only  because  he  is  in  the  habit  of  acting  contrary  to 
them,  because  it  is  hard  for  him  to  break  himself  of  the 
habit,  and  because  the  majority  acts  just  like  iiim,  so  that 
a  failure  to  carry  out  the  truth  does  not  deprive  him  of 
the  respect  of  the  majority  of  most  respected  men, 


ON    THE    RELATION    TO    THE    STATE  527 

There  happens  the  same  as  with  vegetarianism.  "  A 
man  can  be  well  and  healthy  without  killing  animals  for 
his  food ;  consequently,  if  he  eats  meat,  he  contributes  to 
the  slaughter  of  animals  only  for  the  gratification  of  his 
taste.  It  is  immoral  to  act  thus."  This  is  so  simple  and 
so  incontestable  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  agree  to  it. 
But  because  the  majority  still  continue  to  eat  meat,  peo- 
ple, upon  hearing  that  retiectiou,  recognize  it  as  just,  and 
innnediately  add,  smiling :  "  A  piece  of  good  beefsteak  is 
a  good  thing,  all  the  same,  and  it  will  give  me  pleasure  to 
eat  it  to-day  at  dinner." 

In  precisely  the  same  way  the  officers  and  officials  bear 
themselves  in  relation  to  the  proofs  as  to  the  incompati- 
bility of  Christianity  and  humanitarianism  with  military 
and  civil  service.  "  Of  course,  that  is  true,"  such  an 
official  will  say,  "  but  it  is  all  the  same  a  pleasure  to  wear 
a  uniform  and  epaulets  which  will  give  us  admission  any- 
where and  will  gain  respect  for  us,  and  it  is  still  more 
agreeable,  independently  of  any  chance,  with  certainty 
and  precision  to  get  your  salary  on  the  first  of  the  month. 
Your  reflection  is,  indeed,  correct,  but  I  shall  none  the  less 
try  to  get  an  increase  in  my  salary  —  and  pension."  The 
reflection  is  admittedly  incontestable  ;  but,  in  the  first 
place,  a  man  does  not  himself  have  to  kill  an  ox,  but  it  is 
killed  already,  and  a  man  does  not  himself  have  to  collect 
the  taxes  and  kill  people,  but  the  taxes  are  already  col- 
lected and  there  is  an  army  ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  the 
majority  of  men  have  not  yet  heard  this  reflection  and  do 
not  know  that  it  is  not  right  to  act  thus.  And  so  it 
is  permissible  as  yet  not  to  refuse  a  savoury  beefsteak  and 
a  uniform,  and  decorations  which  afford  so  many  pleas- 
ant things  and,  above  all,  a  regular,  monthly  salary  :  "  As 
for  the  rest,  we  will  see." 

The  whole  matter  rests  only  on  this,  that  men  have  not 
yet  heard  the  discussion  which  shows  them  the  injustice 
and  criminality  of  their  lives.     And  so  we  must  keep  up 


628     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

the  cry,  "  Carthago  delenda  est,"  and  Carthage  will  cer- 
tainly fall. 

I  do  not  say  that  the  state  and  its  power  will  fall,  — 
that  will  not  happen  so  soon,  for  there  are  in  the  crowd  still 
too  many  coarse  elements  that  support  it,  —  but  what  will 
be  destroyed  is  the  Christian  support  of  the  state,  that  is, 
the  violators  will  cease  to  maintain  their  authority  by  the 
sacredness  of  Christianity.  The  violators  will  be  viola- 
tors, and  nothing  else.  And  when  this  shall  happen,  when 
they  shall  not  be  able  to  cloak  themselves  with  the  pre- 
tence of  Christianity,  the  end  of  violence  will  be  at  hand. 

Let  us  try  to  hasten  this  end.  "  Carthago  delenda  est." 
The  state  is  violence,  Christianity  is  humility,  non-resist- 
ance, love,  and  so  the  state  cannot  be  Christian,  and  a 
man  who  wants  to  be  a  Christian  cannot  serve  the  state. 
The  state  cannot  be  Christian.  A  Christian  cannot  serve 
the  state,  and  so  on. 

Strange  to  say,  just  as  you  wrote  me  that  letter  about 
the  incompatibility  of  the  political  activity  with  Chris- 
tianity, I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  a  lady  acquaintance  on 
almost  the  same  theme.  I  send  you  this  letter.^  If  you 
deem  it  necessary,  print  it, 

Octoler  12,  1896. 

1  The  uext  letter. 


IL 

LETTER  .TO    THE    LIBERALS 

I  SHOULD  be  very  glad  with  you  and  your  companions, 
—  whose  activity  I  know  and  esteem  highly,  —  to  defend 
the  rights  of  the  Committee  of  Education  and  to  fight 
against  enemies  of  popular  education ;  but  I  see  no  way 
of  struggling  in  the  field  in  which  you  are  working. 

I  console  myself  only  with  this,  that  I  am  assiduously 
at  work  fighting  the  same  enemies  of  education,  though  in 
a  different  field. 

To  judge  from  the  particular  question  which  interests 
you,  I  think  that  in  place  of  the  abolished  Committee  of 
Education  there  ought  to  be  established  a  large  number 
of  other  educational  societies,  with  the  same  problems  and 
independently  of  the  government,  without  asking  the  gov- 
ernment for  any  permission  of  the  censorship,  and  allow- 
ing the  government,  if  it  sees  fit,  to  persecute  these 
educational  societies,  punish  people  for  them,  deport  them, 
and  so  forth.  By  doing  so  the  government  will  only 
enhance  the  significance  of  good  books  and  hbraries  and 
will  strengthen  the  movement  toward  education. 

It  seems  to  me  that  now  it  is  particularly  important  to 
do  what  is  good  in  a  quiet  and  persistent  manner,  with- 
out asking  the  government,  and  even  consciously  evading 
its  participation.  The  power  of  the  state  is  based  on  the 
ignorance  of  the  people,  and  the  state  knows  it  and  so 
will  always  fight  education.  It  is  time  for  us  to  under- 
stand this.     It  is  extremely  dangerous  to  give  the  state 

629 


630     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

a  chance,  while  disseminating  darkness,  to  pretend  that  it 
is  interested  in  the  edvication  of  the  masses,  as  is  the  case 
with  the  so-called  educational  institutions,  which  are  con- 
trolled by  it,  the  public  schools,  gymnasia,  universities, 
academies,  all  kinds  of  committees  and  associations.    The 
good  is  good  and  education  is  education,  only  when  it  is 
all  good  and  all  education,  and  not  when  it  is  adapted 
to  the  circulars  of  the  ministers.    Above  all,  I  am  always 
sorry  to  see  such  precious,  unselfish,  self-sacrificing  forces 
wasted   so  unproductively.     At  times  it  simply  am.uses 
me   to  see  good,  clever  people  waste  their  strength  in 
fighting  the  government  in  the  field  of  those  very  laws 
which  are  arbitrarily  written  by  the  government  itself. 
The  matter  seems  to  me  to  be  as  follows : 
There  are  some  people,  to  whom  we  belong,  who  know 
that  our  government  is  very  bad,  and  who  fight  it.     Ever 
since  the  time  of  Eadishchev  and  the  Decembrists,  two 
methods  of  struggling  have  been  in  vogue,  —  one,  that  of 
Stenka  Eazin,  Pugach^v,  the  Decembrists,  the  revolution- 
ists of  the  sixties,  the  actors  of  the  first  of  March,  and 
others :  a  second,  which  is  preached  and  applied  by  you, 
—  the  method   of  the  "  moderators,"  which   consists  in 
fighting  on  a  legal  basis,  without  violence,  by  a  gradual 
acquisition   of  rights.     Both    methods   have  assiduously 
been  applied  for  more  than  half  a  century,  so  far  as  my 
memory  goes,  and   the  condition   is  getting  worse  and 
worse  ;  if  the  condition  is  getting  better,  this  is  not  due  to 
this  or  that  activity,  but  in   spite  of  the  harmfulness 
of  these  activities  (for  different  reasons,  of  which  I  shall 
speak  later),  and  the  force  against  which  the  struggle  is 
carried  on,  is  growing  more  powerful,  more  potent,  and 
more  insolent.     The  last  flashes  of  self-government,  the 
County  Council,  the  courts,  the  committees  of  education, 
and  everything  else,  are  all  being  abolished. 

Now,  since  so  much  time  has  passed  in  the  vain  em- 
ployment of  these  means,  we  can,  it  seems,  see  clearly 


ON   THE    RELATION    TO    THE    STATE  531 

that  neither  method  is  any  good,  and  why  not.  To  me 
at  least,  who  always .  had  contempt  for  our  governmeut, 
but  never  had  recourse  to  either  method  to  fight  it  with, 
the  mistakes  of  the  two  methods  are  obvious. 

The  first  method  is  no  good,  because,  even  if  it  should 
be  possible  to  change  the  existing  order  by  means  of 
violence,  nothing  guarantees  that  the  established  new 
order  would  be  permanent,  and  that  the  enemies  of  this 
new  order  would  not  triumph  under  favourable  conditions 
and  with  the  aid  of  the  same  violence,  as  often  happened 
in  France  and  wherever  there  were  revolutions.  And  so 
the  new  order  of  things,  which  is  estabhshed  through  vio- 
lence, would  have  to  be  constantly  supported  by  the  same 
violence,  that  is,  by  lawlessness,  and,  in  consequence  of  it, 
would  inevitably  and  very  quickly  be  ruined,  like  the  one 
whose  place  it  took.  But  in  case  of  failure,  as  has  always 
happened  in  Eussia,  all  the  cases  of  revolutionary  violence, 
from  Pugacht^v  to  the  first  of  March,  have  only  strength- 
ened the  order  of  things  against  which  they  have  fought, 
transferring  to  the  camp  of  the  conservatives  and  retro- 
grades the  enormous  number  of  indecisive  people  who 
stood  in  the  middle  and  did  not  belong  to  either  camp. 
And  so  I  think  that,  being  guided  by  experience  and  by 
reflection,  I  may  say  boldly  that  this  method  is  not  only 
immoral,  but  also  irrational  and  ineffective. 

Still  less  effective  and  rational,  in  my  opinion,  is  the 
second  method.  It  is  ineffective  and  irrational,  because 
having  in  hand  the  whole  power  (the  army,  the  adminis- 
tration, the  church,  the  schools,  the  police),  and  compos- 
ing those  very  so-called  laws,  on  the  basis  of  which  the 
liberals  want  to  fight  with  it,  the  government  knows  full 
well  what  is  dangerous  for  itself,  and  will  never  permit 
the  people  who  submit  to  it  and  who  act  under  its  guid- 
ance to  do  anything  which  might  subvert  its  power. 
Thus,  for  example,  in  the  present  case,  the  government, 
which  in  Eussia  (as  elsewhere)  is  based  on  the  ignorance 


532  ON   THE   RELATION   TO    THE   STATE 

of  the  people,  will  never  allow  the  people  to  get  any  real 
education.  It  gives  permission  for  the  establishment  of 
so-called  educational  institutions,  which  are  controlled  by- 
it, —  public  schools,  gymnasia,  universities,  academies,  all 
kinds  of  committees  and  associations,  and  censored  publi- 
cations, so  long  as  these  institutions  and  publications  serve 
its  purposes,  that  is,  stultify  the  people,  or  at  least  do  not 
interfere  with  their  stultification ;  but  at  every  attempt 
made  by  these  institutions  or  publications  to  undermine 
that  on  which  the  power  of  the  government  is  based,  that 
is,  the  ignorance  of  the  people,  the  government,  without 
giving  any  account  to  any  one  for  doing  so  and  not  other- 
wise, most  quietly  pronounces  its  veto,  reorganizes  and 
closes  the  establishments  or  institutions,  and  prohibits  the 
publications.  And  so,  as  becomes  clear  from  reflection 
and  from  experience,  such  a  supposed  gradual  conquest 
of  rights  is  only  a  self-deception,  which  is  very  advan- 
tageous for  the  government  and  so  is  even  encouraged 
by  it. 

But  this  activity  is  not  only  irrational  and  ineffective, 
but  also  harmful.  It  is  harmful,  in  the  first  place,  because 
enlightened,  good,  honest  men,  by  entering  into  the  ranks 
of  the  government,  give  it  a  moral  authority,  which  it  did 
not  have  without  them.  If  the  whole  government  con- 
sisted of  nothing  but  coarse  violators,  selfish  men,  and 
flatterers,  who  form  its  pith,  it  could  not  exist.  Only  the 
participation  of  enlightened  and  honest  men  in  the  govern- 
ment gives  it  that  moral  prestige  which  it  has.  In  this 
consists  one  harm  of  the  activity  of  the  liberals,  who  take 
part  in  the  government  or  compromise  with  it.  In  the 
second  place,  such  an  activity  is  harmful,  because,  for  tlie 
possibility  of  its  manifestation,  these  same  enlightened, 
honest  men,  by  admitting  compromises,  slowly  get  used 
to  the  idea  that  for  a  good  purpose  it  is  permissible  a 
little  to  depart  from  truth  both  in  words  and  acts.  It  is 
permissible,  for  example,  without  acknowledging  the  exist- 


ON  TUE  KELATION  TO  THE  STATE    533 

ing  religion,  to  execute  its  rites,  to  take  an  oath,  to  deliver 
false  addresses  that  are  contrary  to  human  dignity,  if  that 
is  necessary  for  the  success  of  the  cause ;  it  is  right  to 
enter  military  service,  to  take  part  in  the  County  Council, 
which  has  no  rights,  to  serve  as  a  teacher,  as  a  professor, 
teaching,  not  what  one  thinks  necessary,  but  what  is  pre- 
scribed by  the  government,  even  by  the  County  Council 
chief ;  it  is  right  to  submit  to  the  demands  and  regula- 
tions of  the  government,  which  are  contrary  to  one's  con- 
science, and  publish  newspapers  and  periodicals,  passing 
over  in  silence  what  ought  to  be  said,  and  printing  what 
one  is  commanded  to  print.  By  making  these  compro- 
mises, the  hmits  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  foresee,  en- 
lightened, honourable  men,  who  alone  could  form  a  barrier 
against  the  government  in  its  encroachment  upon  men's 
liberty,  by  imperceptibly  departing  more  and  more  from 
the  demands  of  their  conscience,  fall  into  a  condition  of 
complete  dependence  on  the  government,  before  they  get 
a  chance  to  look  around :  they  receive  their  salaries,  their 
rewards  from  it,  and,  by  continuing  to  imagine  that  they 
are  carrying  out  liberal  ideas,  become  submissive  servants 
and  supporters  of  the  very  order  against  which  they  have 
been  struggling. 

It  is  true,  there  are  also  very  good  and  sincere  men 
in  this  camp,  who  do  not  succumb  to  the  enticements 
of  the  government  and  remain  free  from  bribery,  salary, 
and  position.  These  men  generally  get  caught  in  the 
meshes  of  the  net  which  the  government  throws  about 
them,  and  they  struggle  in  this  net,  as  you  now  do  with 
your  committees,  whirling  about  in  one  spot ;  or  they 
get  excited  and  pass  over  to  the  camp  of  the  revolution- 
ists ;  or  they  commit  suicide,  or  take  to  drinking,  or  in 
despair  throw  everything  up  and,  what  happens  most 
frequently,  betake  themselves  to  literature,  where  they 
submit  to  the  demands  of  the  censorship  and  express 
only  what  is  permitted,  and  by  this  very  concealment  of 


5o4     ON  THE  KELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

what  is  most  important  introduce  the  most  perverse  ideas, 
which  are  most  desirable  to  the  government,  to  the  pubhc, 
imagining  all  the  time  that  with  their  writing,  which  gives 
them  the  means  of  existence,  they  are  serving  society. 

Thus  reflection  and  experience  show  me  that  both 
methods  for  struggling  against  the  government,  which 
have  been  in  vogue,  are  not  only  not  effective,  but 
equally  contribute  to  the  strengthening  of  the  power  and 
the  arbitrariness  of  the  government. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ?  Evidently  not  that  which 
in  the  course  of  seventy  years  has  proved  to  be  fruitless 
and  has  attained  the  opposite  results.  What,  then,  is  to 
be  done  ?  The  same  that  is  done  by  those  thanks  to  whose 
activity  there  has  been  accomplished  all  that  forward  move- 
ment toward  the  light,  the  good,  which  has  been  accom- 
phshed  since  the  world  has  existed.  It  is  this  that  ought 
to  be  done.     Now  what  is  it  ? 

It  is  the  simple,  calm,  truthful  fulfilment  of  what  one 
considers  to  be  good  and  proper,  quite  independently  of 
the  government,  of  whether  that  pleases  the  government 
or  not,  —  in  other  words,  a  defence  of  one's  rights,  not  as 
a  member  of  the  Committee  of  Education,  or  as  an  alder- 
man, or  landowner,  or  merchant,  or  even  as  a  member  of 
parliament,  but  the  defence  of  one's  rights  as  a  rational 
and  free  man,  and  their  defence,  not  as  one  defends  the 
rights  of  County  Councils  and  committees,  with  conces- 
sions and  compromises,  but  without  any  concessions  or 
compromises,  as  indeed  the  moral  human  dignity  cannot 
be  defended  in  any  other  way. 

In  order  successfully  to  defend  a  fortress,  it  is  necessary 
to  burn  all  the  houses  of  the  suburb  and  to  leave  only  what 
is  fortified  and  what  we  will  not  surrender  under  any  con- 
dition. The  same  is  true  here :  it  is  necessary  at  first  to 
concede  what  we  can  surrender,  and  to  keep  only  what  is 
not  to  be  surrendered.  Only  by  fortifying  ourselves  on 
what  is  unsurreuderable,  are  we  able  to  conquer  every- 


ON    THE    RELATION   TO    THE    STATE  535 

thiug  which  we  need.  It  is  true,  the  rights  of  a  member 
of  parliament,  or  even  of  the  County  Council,  or  of  a  com- 
mittee are  greater  than  those  of  a  simple  man,  and,  by- 
making  use  of  these  rights,  it  seems  that  very  much  may 
be  accomplished ;  but  the  trouble  is,  that,  to  acquire  the 
rights  of  the  County  Council,  the  parhament,  the  com- 
mittee, it  is  necessary  to  renounce  part  of  one's  own  rights 
as  a  man.  And  having  renounced  a  part  of  one's  own 
rights  as  a  man,  no  fulcrum  is  left,  and  it  is  impossible 
either  to  gain  any  new  rights  or  retain  those  already  pos- 
sessed. To  pull  others  out  of  the  mire,  a  man  must  him- 
self stand  on  dry  land,  and  if  he,  for  greater  convenience 
in  the  work,  goes  down  into  the  mire,  he  does  not  pull 
any  one  else  out,  and  himself  sticks  fast.  It  may  be  very 
well  and  useful  to  pass  an  eight-hour  day  in  parliament 
or  a  liberal  programme  for  school  libraries  in  some  com- 
mittee ;  but  if  a  member  of  parliament,  to  do  this,  must 
raise  his  hand  and  lie  in  public,  and  lie  in  pronouncing 
an  oath  and  expressing  in  words  a  respect  for  what  he 
does  not  respect;  or  if  we,  to  carry  into  execution  the 
most  liberal  programmes,  are  obliged  to  attend  Te  Deums, 
swear,  put  on  uniforms,  write  lying  and  flattering  docu- 
ments, and  make  similar  speeches,  and  so  forth,  we,  by 
doing  all  these  things,  renounce  our  human  dignity  and 
lose  much  more  than  we  gain,  and,  by  striving  after  the 
attainment  of  one  definite  end  (as  a  rule  not  even  this  end 
is  attained),  deprive  ourselves  of  the  possibility  of  attain- 
ing other  most  important  ends.  The  government  can  be 
restrained  and  counteracted  only  by  men  who  have  some- 
thing which  they  will  not  give  up  for  anything,  under  any 
conditions.  To  have  the  power  for  counteraction  it  is 
necessary  to  have  a  fulcrum,  and  the  government  knows 
this  very  well,  and  is  particularly  concerned  about  coaxing 
that  which  does  not  yield,  —  the  human  dignity,  —  out  of 
men.  When  this  is  coaxed  out  of  them  the  government 
calmly  does  what  it  needs  to,  knowing  that  it  will  no 


636     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

longer  meet  with  any  real  opposition.  A  man  who  con- 
sents to  swear  in  public,  pronouncing  the  unbecoming  and 
false  words  of  the  oath,  or  submissively  in  his  uniform  to 
wait  for  several  hours  to  be  received  by  a  minister,  or 
to  inscribe  himself  in  the  "guard  of  protection"  during 
the  coronation,  or  for  decency's  sake  to  go  through  the 
ceremony  of  the  communion,  or  to  ask  the  chiefs  of 
the  censorship  in  advance  whether  certain  ideas  may  be 
expressed  or  not,  and  so  forth,  is  no  longer  a  danger  to  the 
government. 

Alexander  II.  said  that  the  liberals  were  not  dangerous 
to  him,  because  he  knew  that  they  could  all  be  bought 
with  honours,  if  not  with  money. 

Men  who  take  part  in  the  government  or  who  work 
under  its  guidance  may,  by  pretending  that  they  are 
lighting,  deceive  themselves  and  their  like ;  but  those 
who  struggle  against  them  know  incontestably  from  the 
opposition  which  they  offer  that  they  are  not  in  earnest, 
but  are  only  pretending.  And  this  our  government 
knows  in  relation  to  the  liberals,  and  it  is  constantly  mak- 
ing experiments  as  to  how  much  real  opposition  there  is, 
and,  upon  having  ascertained  to  what  extent  it  is  absent 
for  the  government's  purposes,  it  proceeds  to  do  its  work 
with  the  full  assurance  that  anything  may  be  done  with 
these  men. 

The  government  of  Alexander  III.  knew  this  very  well, 
and,  knowing  this,  calmly  abolished  everything  of  which 
the  liberals  had  been  so  proud,  imagining  that  they  had 
done  it  all :  it  limited  the  trial  by  jury  ;  abohshed  the 
office  of  the  justice  of  the  peace ;  abolished  the  university 
rights ;  changed  the  system  of  instruction  in  the  gym- 
nasia ;  renewed  the  school  of  cadets,  and  even  the  govern- 
mental sale  of  hquor ;  established  the  County  Council 
chiefs ;  legalized  the  use  of  the  rod ;  almost  abolished 
the  County  Council ;  gave  the  governors  uncontrolled 
power ;  encouraged  pubhc  executions ;  enforced  adminis- 


ON    THE    KELA.TION    TO    THE    STATE  537 

trative  deportations  and  confinements  in  prisons,  and  the 
execution  of  political  prisoners ;  introduced  new  religious 
persecutions ;  carried  the  stultification  of  the  masses  by- 
means  of  savage  superstitions  to  the  utmost  limits ;  legal- 
ized murder  in  duels ;  established  anarchy  in  the  form  of 
the  guard  of  protection,  with  capital  punishment,  as  a 
normal  order  of  things ;  and  in  the  enforcement  of  all 
these  measures  it  did  not  meet  with  any  opposition, 
except  the  protest  of  one  honourable  woman,  who  boldly 
told  the  government  what  she  considered  to  be  truth. 
Though  the  liberals  softly  said  to  one  another  that  they 
did  not  like  it  all,  they  continued  to  take  part  in  the 
courts,  and  in  the  County  Councils,  and  in  the  univer- 
sities, and  in  the  service,  and  in  the  press.  In  the  press 
they  threw  out  hints  at  what  they  were  allowed  to  hint 
at,  and  passed  in  silence  what  they  were  not  allowed  to 
mention  ;  but  they  continued  to  print  what  they  were 
commanded  to  print.  Thus  every  reader,  who  received 
the  liberal  newspapers  and  periodicals  but  was  not  ini- 
tiated in  what  was  quietly  talked  of  in  the  editor's  office, 
read  the  uncommented  exposition  and  condemnation  of 
the  most  cruel  and  senseless  measures,  subservient  and 
fulsome  addresses  meant  for  the  authors  of  these  meas- 
ures, and  frequently  even  laudations  of  them.  Thus  all 
the  sad  activity  of  the  government  of  Alexander  III., 
which  destroyed  all  the  good  that  had  begun  to  enter 
into  life  under  Alexander  II.,  and  which  endeavoured  to 
bring  Russia  back  to  the  barbarism  of  the  times  of  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century,  —  all  that  sad  activity 
of  gibbets,  rods,  persecutions,  and  the  stultification  of  the 
masses,  —  became  the  subject  of  a  mad  eulogy  of  Alex- 
ander III.,  which  was  printed  in  all  the  liberal  newspapers 
and  periodicals,  and  of  his  glorification  as  a  great  man,  as 
a  model  of  human  dignity. 

The   same  has  been  continued  during  the  new  reign. 
The  young  man  who  took  the  place  of  the  former  Tsar, 


538     ON  THE  EELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

and  who  had  no  idea  of  life,  was  assured  by  the  men  who 
stand  by  the  power  aud  who  profit  by  it,  that  to  govern 
one  hundred  millions  it  was  necessary  to  do  the  same 
that  his  father  had  done,  that  is,  that  no  one  ought  to  be 
asked  what  was  to  be  done,  and  that  he  ought  to  do  any- 
thing that  occurred  to  him  or  that  he  was  counselled  to 
do  by  any  of  the  flatterers  near  his  person.  And  imagin- 
ing that  the  unlimited  autocracy  is  a  sacred  principle  of 
the  life  of  the  Eussian  nation,  tliis  young  man  begins  his 
reign  by  this,  that,  instead  of  asking  the  representatives 
of  the  Eussian  nation  to  help  him  with  their  advice  in 
his  government,  of  which  he,  who  was  educated  in  the 
regiments  of  the  guard,  understands  nothmg  and  cannot 
understand  anything,  he  boldly  and  indecently  shouts  at 
the  representatives  of  the  Eussian  nation,  who  come  to 
congratulate  him,  and  calls  the  timid  expression  of  the 
desire  of  some  of  them  to  inform  the  authorities  of  their 
wants  "  senseless  reveries." 

Well  ?  Was  Eussian  society  provoked,  and  did  the 
enlightened  and  honourable  men  —  the  liberals  —  ex- 
press their  indignation  and  contempt,  and  at  least  refrain 
from  extolling  such  a  government  and  from  taking  part 
in  it  and  encouraging  it  ?  Not  at  all.  From  that  time 
there  began  a  race  to  extol  the  father  and  the  son,  who 
emulates  him,  and  not  a  single  protesting  voice  is  raised, 
except  in  one  anonymous  letter,  which  cautiously  ex- 
presses the  disapproval  of  the  act  of  the  young  Tsar,  and 
on  all  sides  the  Tsar  is  offered  base,  fulsome  addresses, 
for  some  reason,  all  kinds  of  images,  which  are  of  no  use 
to  any  one  and  serve  only  as  a  subject  of  idolatry  for 
coarse  men.  A  coronation,  horrible  in  its  insipidity  and 
frantic  waste  of  money,  is  arranged ;  from  disregard  for 
the  masses  and  from  the  insolence  of  the  rulers  there 
occur  terrible  calamities  in  which  thousands  lose  their 
lives  and  upon  which  the  guilty  persons  look  as  upon  a 
small  overcasting  of  the  solemnity,  that  need  not  be  inter- 


ON    THE    KELATION    TO    THE    STATE  5ii9 

rupted  on  account  of  them ;  an  exhibition  is  established, 
on  which  millions  are  wasted  and  which  is  of  no  use 
except  to  those  who  arranged  it ;  with  unheard-of  bold- 
ness they  invent  in  the  chancery  of  the  Synod  new,  most 
stupid  means  for  the  stultification  of  the  masses,  —  the 
relics  of  a  man,  of  whom  no  one  had  ever  heard  anything ; 
the  severity  of  the  censorship  is  increased ;  the  persecu- 
tions for  rehgiou's  sake  are  enforced ;  the  guard  of  protec- 
tion, that  is,  legalized  lawlessness,  is  continued,  and  the 
condition  gets  worse  and  worse. 

I  think  that  all  that  would  not  exist,  if  those  enlight- 
ened  and  honourable  men  who  are  now  busy  with  their 
liberal  activity  on  the  basis  of  legality  in  the  County 
Councils,  committees,  censored  literature,  and  so  forth,  did 
not  direct  their  energy  to  deceiving  the  government  in 
the  very  forms  which  are  established  by  the  government, 
and  somehow  to  compelling  it  to  act  to  its  detriment  and 
ruiu,^  but  directed  it  to  the  defence  of  their  personal 
human  rights,  under  no  condition  taking  part  in  the 
government  or  in  any  affairs  which  are  connected  with  it. 

"  It  pleases  you  to  substitute  County  Council  chiefs 
with  rods  in  the  place  of  justices  of  the  peace,  —  that  is 
your  business,  but  we  will  not  go  to  court  to  your  County 
Council  chiefs,  nor  will  we  ourselves  accept  such  an  office ; 
it  pleases  you  to  make  the  trial  by  jury  nothing  but  a 
formality,  —  that  is  your  business,  but  we  will  not  become 
judges,  nor  lawyers,  nor  jurors :  it  pleases  you,  under  the 
guise  of  a  guard  of  protection,  to  establish  lawlessness,  — 
that  is  your  business,  but  we  will  not  take  part  in  it  and 
will  frankly  call  the  guard  of  protection  a  species  of  law- 
lessness, and  capital  punishment  without  trial  simple 
murder;  it  pleases  you  to  establish  classical  gymnasia 
with  military  exercises  and  religious  instruction,  or  schools 

^It  sometimes  amuses  me  to  think  how  foolishly  men  busy  them- 
selves with  such  an  impossible  matter,  as  though  it  were  possible  to 
cut  off  an  animal's  foot,  without  the  animal's  noticing  it.  — Avthor's 
Note. 


640     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

of  cadets,  —  that  is  your  business,  but  we  will  not  be 

teachers  in  them  and  will  not  send  our  children  to  them, 

but  will  educate  our  children  as  we  think  best ;  it  pleases 

you  to  reduce  the  County  Council  to  nothing,  —  we  will 

not  take  part  in  it ;  you  forbid  the  publication  of  what 

displeases  you,  —  you  may  catch  and  punish  the  printers 

and  burn  down  the  printing-offices,  but  you  cannot  keep 

us  from  talking  and  writing,  and  that  we  will  do ;  you 

command  us  to  swear  allegiance  to  the  Tsar,  —  we  will 

not  do  so,  because  that  is  stupid,  deceitful,  and  base ;  you 

command  us  to  serve  in  the  army,  —  we  will  not  do  so, 

because  we  consider  mass  murder  to  be  an  act  which  is  as 

contrary  to  conscience  as  single  murder,  and,  above  all, 

the  promise  to  kill  whomsoever  our  chief  will  command 

us  to  kill  the  basest  act  which  a  man  can  commit ;  you 

profess  a  religion  which  is  a  thousand  years  behind  the 

times,  with  the  Iberian  Virgin,  with  its  rehcs,  and  with 

.  its  coronations,  —  that  is  your  business,  but  we  not  only 

do   not   recognize   it   as   being    a   religion,   but    call   it 

the    worst    kind    of    idolatry,   and    try    to    free    people 

from  ito" 

What  can  the  government  do  against  such  an  activity  ? 
They  can  deport  or  imprison  a  man  for  preparing  a  bomb 
or  even  printing  a  proclamation  to  the  labouring  people, 
and  they  can  transfer  a  committee  of  education  from  one 
ministry  to  another,  or  prorogue  a  parhament ;  but  what 
can  a  government  do  with  a  man  who  will  not  lie  in 
public,  by  raising  his  hand,  or  does  not  want  to  send  his 
children  to  an  institution  which  he  considers  to  be  bad,  or 
does  not  want  to  learn  how  to  kill  men,  or  does  not  want 
to  take  part  in  idolatry,  or  does  not  want  to  take  part  in 
coronations,  meetings,  and  addresses,  or  says  and  writes 
what  he  thinks  and  feels  ?  By  persecutmg  such  a  man, 
the  government  causes  universal  sympathy  to  be  directed 
toward  such  a  man,  makes  a  martyr  of  him,  and  under- 
miaes  tho§Q  foundations  on  which  it  holds  itself,  because, 


ON    THE   RELATION    TO    THE    STATE  541 

by  doing  so,  it  violates  the  human  rights,  instead  of  pro- 
tecting them. 

Let  all  those  good,  enlightened,  and  honourable  men, 
whose  energy  is  now  wasted  to  their  own  detriment  and 
to  the  detriment  of  their  cause  in  a  revolutionary,  social- 
istic, and  liberal  activity,  begin  to  act  thus,  and  there 
would  form  itself  a  nucleus  of  honest,  enlightened,  and 
moral  men,  welded  together  by  one  thought  and  one 
sentiment,  and  this  nucleus  would  immediately  be  joined 
by  the  whole  wavering  mass  of  average  men,  and  there 
would  appear  that  one  force  which  vanquishes  govern- 
ments, —  that  public  opinion,  which  demands  the  freedom 
of  the  word,  the  freedom  of  conscience,  justice,  and 
humaneness ;  as  soon  as  public  opinion  would  be  formed, 
it  would  not  only  become  impossible  to  close  a  com- 
mittee of  education,  but  all  those  inhuman  institutions, 
in  the  form  of  the  guard  of  protection,  the  secret  pohce, 
the  censorship,  Schliisselburg,  the  Synod,  with  which  the 
revolutionists  and  liberals  are  struggling  now,  would 
naturally  be  destroyed. 

Thus,  two  methods  have  been  tried  in  the  struggle 
with  the  government,  both  of  them  failures,  and  now  a 
third,  the  last,  is  left ;  it  has  not  yet  been  tried,  but  in  my 
opinion  it  cannot  help  but  be  successful.  This  method, 
briefly  expressed,  consists  in  this,  that  all  the  enlightened 
and  honest  people  should  try  to  be  as  good  as  possible,  — 
I  do  not  even  mean  good  in  every  respect,  but  only  in  one, 
namely,  in  the  observation  of  one  elementary  virtue,  —  to 
be  honest,  not  to  lie,  and  to  act  and  speak  in  such  a  way 
that  the  motives  which  prompt  you  to  act  may  be  compre- 
hensible to  your  seven-year-old  son,  who  loves  you ;  act 
in  such  a  way  that  your  son  may  not  say :  "  Why,  papa, 
did  you  then  say  so,  and  now  do  and  say  something  quite 
different  ? "  This  method  seems  to  be  very  weak,  and  yet 
I  am  convinced  that  it  is  this  one  method  that  has  ad- 
vanced humanity  ever  since  its  existence.     It  was  only 


542     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

because  there  were  such  straightforward,  truthful,  manly 
men,  who  did  not  yield  to  any  one  in  the  matter  of  their 
human  dignity,  that  all  those  beneficent  changes  which 
men  now  enjoy  —  from  the  abolition  of  torture  and 
slavery  to  the  freedom  of  speech  and  of  conscience  —  were 
accomplished.  And  this  could  not  be  otherwise,  because 
what  is  demanded  by  the  conscience,  the  highest  presenti- 
ment of  the  truth  which  is  accessible  to  man,  is  always 
and  in  all  relations  at  a  given  moment  the  most  fruitful 
and  the  most  necessary  activity  for  humanity. 

But  I  must  explain  myself :  the  statement  that  for  the 
attainment  of  those  ends  toward  which  the  revolutionists 
and  the  liberals  alike  are  striving,  the  most  effective  means 
is  an  activity  which  is  in  conformity  with  one's  conscience, 
does  not  mean  that  for  the  attainment  of  these  ends  it  is 
possible  to  begin  by  living  in  conformity  with  one's  con- 
science. It  is  impossible  to  begin  on  purpose  to  live  in 
conformity  with  one's  conscience,  in  order  to  attain  any 
external  ends. 

A  man  can  live  in  conformity  with  his  conscience  only 
in  consequence  of  some  firm  and  clear  religious  convictions. 
When  there  are  such  firm  and  clear  religious  convictions, 
the  beneiicent  consequences  from  them  in  the  external 
life  will  inevitably  come.  And  so  the  essence  of  what  I 
wanted  to  say  consists  in  this,  that  it  is  unprofitable  for 
good,  sincere  men  to  waste  the  forces  of  their  mind  and  soul 
on  the  attainment  of  triHing,  practical  ends,  as  in  all  kinds 
of  struggles  of  nationahty,  parties,  liberal  programmes, 
so  long  as  there  has  not  been  established  any  clear  and 
firm  religious  world-conception,  that  is,  the  consciousness 
of  the  meaning  of  their  life  and  its  destiny.  I  think  that 
all  the  efforts  of  the  soul  and  the  reason  of  good  people 
who  wish  to  serve  men,  ought  to  be  directed  upon  this. 
When  this  shall  be,  all  the  rest  will  happen. 

Pardon  me  for  having  written  you  at  such  a  length : 
perhaps  you  do  not  need  this,  but  I  have  for  a  long  time 


ON    THE    EELATlOI^j    TO    TUE    STATE  543 

been  wishing  to  say  something  iu  regard  to  this  question. 
I  even  began  a  long  article  on  the  subject,  but  I  doubt 
whether  I  shall  be  able  to  finish  it  before  my  death,  and 
so  I  wanted  to  say  what  I  could.  Forgive  me,  if  I  hav3 
erred  in  anything. 
August  31, 1896. 


III. 

LETTEK   TO   THE   EDITOR   OF   THE   DAILY   CHRONICLE 

Ever  since  the  appearance  of  my  book,  The  Kincjdom 
of  God  Is  Within  Yo7t,  and  of  the  article,  Christianity  and 
Patriotism,  I  frequently  have  had  occasion  to  read  in  ar- 
ticles and  in  letters  retorts,  I  shall  not  say  to  my  thoughts, 
but  to  their  misinterpretations.  This  is  sometimes  done 
consciously,  and  sometimes  unconsciously,  only  through 
a  sheer  misunderstanding  of  the  spirit  of  the  Christian 
teaching. 

"  All  that  is  very  vv^ell,"  I  am  told  ;  "  despotism,  capital 
punishment,  the  armament  of  the  vv^hole  of  Europe,  the 
oppressed  condition  of  the  labourers,  and  the  wars  are  all 
great  calamities,  and  you  are  right  when  you  condemn 
the  existing  order,  but  how  can  we  get  along  without  a 
government  ?  What  right  have  we,  the  men  with  a  lim- 
ited comprehension  and  intellect,  because  it  seems  better 
to  us,  to  destroy  that  existing  order  of  things,  by  means 
of  which  our  ancestors  attained  the  present  high  degree  of 
civilization  and  all  its  benefits  ?  While  destroying  the 
government  we  ought  to  put  something  else  in  its  place. 
If  not,  how  can  we  risk  all  those  terrible  calamities, 
which  must  inevitably  assail  us,  if  the  government  is 
destroyed  ? " 

But  the  point  is,  that  the  Christian  teaching,  in  its  true 
sense,  has  never  proposed  to  destroy  anything,  nor  has  it 
proposed  any  new  order,  which  is  to  take  the  place  of 

544 


ON   THE    DELATION   TO    THE   STATE  545 

the  older  one.  The  Christian  teacliiug  differs  from  all 
the  other  religious  and  social  doctrines  in  this  very  thing, 
that  it  gives  the  good  to  men,  not  by  means  of  common 
laws  for  the  lives  of  all  men,  but  by  the  elucidation  for 
every  individual  man  of  the  meaning  of  his  life,  by  show- 
ing him  what  the  evil  and  what  tlie  true  good  of  his  life 
consists  in.  And  this  meaning  of  life,  which  is  revealed 
to  man  by  the  Christian  teaching,  is  so  clear,  so  con- 
vincing, and  so  unquestionable,  that  as  soon  as  a  man 
has  come  to  understand  it  and  so  cognizes  what  the 
evil  and  the  good  of  his  life  consists  in,  he  can  in  no  way 
consciously  do  that  in  which  he  sees  the  evil  of  his  life, 
and  cannot  fail  to  do  that  in  which  he  sees  its  true  good, 
just  as  water  cannot  help  but  run  down,  and  a  plant  tend 
toward  the  light. 

But  the  meaning  of  life,  as  revealed  to  man  by  Chris- 
tianity, consists  in  doing  the  will  of  Him,  from  whom  we 
have  come  into  this  world  and  to  whom  we  shall  go, 
when  we  leave  it.  Thus  the  evil  of  our  life  lies  only 
in  the  departure  from  this  will,  and  the  good  lies  only  in 
the  fulfilment  of  the  demands  of  this  will,  wliich  are  so 
simple  and  so  clear  that  it  is  as  impossible  to  miss  under- 
standing them  as  it  is  absurd  to  misinterpret  them.  If 
you  cannot  do  unto  another  what  you  wish  that  he  should 
do  unto  you,  at  least  do  not  do  unto  another  what  you  do 
not  wish  that  another  should  do  unto  you :  if  you  do  not 
wish  to  be  compelled  to  work  in  a  factory  or  in  mines  for 
ten  hours  at  a  time ;  if  you  do  not  wish  your  children 
to  be  hungry,  cold,  ignorant ;  if  you  do  not  wish  your 
land,  on  which  you  can  support  yourself,  to  be  taken 
from  you ;  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  locked  up  in  a  prison 
and  hanged,  because  through  old  age,  temptation,  or  igno- 
rance you  have  committed  an  illegal  act ;  if  you  do  not 
wish  to  be  wounded  and  killed  in  war,  —  do  not  do  the 
same  to  others. 

All  this  is  so  simple,  so  clear,  so  incontestable,  that  a 


646     ON  THE  KELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

small  child  cannot  help  but  understand  it,  and  no  sophist 
can  overthrow  it. 

Let  us  imagine  that  a  labourer,  who  is  entirely  in  the 
power  of  his  master,  is  put  to  some  comprehensible  work, 
which  he  likes.  Suddenly  this  labourer,  who  is  in  the 
full  power  of  the  master,  is  approached  by  men  who,  he 
knows,  are  in  the  same  dependence  on  the  master  as 
he,  and  who  are  charged  with  a  similar  definite  work 
as  he,  —  and  these  men,  who  themselves  have  not  fulfilled 
the  work  entrusted  to  them,  demand  of  the  labourer  that 
he  shall  do  the  very  reverse  of  what  is  clearly  and  unques- 
tionably, without  any  exception,  prescribed  to  him  by  his 
master.  What  can  any  sensible  labourer  reply  to  such  a 
demand  ? 

But  this  comparison  is  far  from  expressing  what  must 
be  the  feelings  of  a  Christian,  who  is  approached  with 
the  demands  that  he  shall  take  part  in  oppression,  in  the 
seizure  of  land,  in  capital  punishments,  wars,  and  so  forth, 
demands  which  are  made  upon  us  by  the  governmental 
authorities,  because,  no  matter  how  impressive  the  com- 
mands of  the  master  may  have  been  for  the  labourer, 
they  will  never  compare  with  that  unquestionable  knowl- 
edge of  every  man  who  is  uncorrupted  by  false  teachings, 
that  he  must  not  do  unto  others  what  he  does  not  wish 
to  have  done  unto  himself,  and  that  he,  therefore,  must 
not  take  part  in  acts  of  violence,  in  levying  for  the  army, 
in  capital  punishments,  in  the  murder  of  his  neighbour, 
which  is  demanded  of  him  by  his  government.  Thus,  the 
question  for  a  Christian  is  not,  as  it  is  unwittingly  and 
sometimes  consciously  put  by  the  advocates  of  the  govern- 
ment, whether  a  man  has  the  right  to  destroy  the  existing 
order  and  put  a  new  one  in  its  place,  —  a  Christian  does 
not  even  thinlv  of  the  general  order,  leaving  this  to  be 
managed  by  God,  being  firmly  convinced  that  God  has 
implanted  His  law  in  our  minds  and  hearts,  not  for  dis- 
order, but  for  order,  and  that  nothing  but  what  is  good 


ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE     547 

will  come  from  following  the  unquestionable  law  of  God, 
which  is  revealed  to  us ;  the  question  for  any  Christian, 
or  for  any  man  in  general,  is  not,  how  to  arrange  matters 
in  an  external  or  new  way  (no  one  of  us  is  obliged  to  solve 
this  question),  —  what  is  subject  to  the  solution  of  every 
one  of  us,  not  at  will,  but  inevitably,  is  the  question  as 
to  how  I  am  to  act  in  the  choice  which  presents  itself 
to  me  all  the  time :  must  I,  contrary  to  my  conscience, 
take  part  in  the  government,  which  recognizes  the  right  to 
the  ownership  in  land  in  the  case  of  those  men  who  do 
not  work  upon  it,  which  collects  the  taxes  from  the  poor, 
in  order  to  give  them  to  the  rich,  which  deports  and  sends 
to  hard  labour  and  hangs  erring  men,  drives  soldiers  to 
slaughter,  corrupts  the  masses  with  opium  and  whiskey, 
and  so  forth  ;  or  must  I,  in  accordance  with  my  con- 
science, refuse  to  take  part  m  the  government,  whose  acts 
are  contrary  to  my  conscience  ?  But  what  will  happen, 
what  the  government  will  be  as  the  result  of  this  or  that 
act  of  mine,  I  do  not  know ;  not  that  I  do  not  wish  to 
know  it,  but  I  cannot  know  it. 

In  this  does  the  force  of  the  Christian  teaching  consist, 
that  it  transfers  the  questions  of  life  from  the  field  of 
eternal  guesses  and  doubts  to  the  field  of  undoubted 
knowledge. 

But  I  shall  be  told  :  "  We,  too,  do  not  deny  the  neces- 
sity of  changing  the  existing  order,  and  also  wish  to  mend 
it,  —  not  by  refusing  to  take  part  in  the  government, 
in  the  courts,  in  the  army,  not  by  destroying  the  govern- 
ment, but  on  the  contrary,  by  taking  part  in  the  gov-- 
ernment,  by  acquiring  liberty  and  rights,  by  choosing  as 
representatives  the  true  friends  of  the  people  and  the 
enemies  of  war  and  of  every  violence." 

All  that  would  be  very  nice,  if  the  contribution  to 
the  improvement  of  the  forms  of  the  government  coin- 
cided with  the  purpose  of  human  life.  Unfortunately  it 
not  only  fails  to  coincide  with  it,  but  even  contradicts 


548     ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE 

it.  If  human  life  is  limited  by  this  world,  its  purpose  is 
much  nearer  than  a  gradual  amelioration  of  government,  — 
it  is  in  the  personal  good  ;  but  if  hfe  does  not  end  with 
this  world  it  is  much  farther,  —  in  the  fulfilment  of  God's 
will.  If  it  is  in  my  personal  good,  and  life  ends  here, 
what  business  have  I  with  the  future  slow  improved  order 
of  the  state,  which  will  be  accompHshed  sometime  and 
somewhere,  in  all  probability  when  I  am  no  longer  alive  ? 
But  if  my  life  is  immortal,  the  purpose  of  the  improved 
order  of  the  English,  German,  Eussian,  or  any  other  state 
in  the  twentieth  century  is  too  little  for  me,  and  abso- 
lutely fails  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  my  immortal  soul. 
What  may  be  an  adequate  purpose  for  my  life  is  either 
my  immediate  good,  which  by  no  means  coincides  with 
the  state  activity  of  taxes,  courts,  wars,  or  the  eternal  sal- 
vation of  my  soul,  which  is  attained  only  by  the  fulfilment 
of  God's  will,  and  this  will  just  as  little  coincides  with 
the  demands  of  violence,  of  capital  punishments,  of  wars, 
of  the  existing  order. 

And  so  I  repeat :  the  question,  not  only  for  a  Christian, 
but  for  every  man  of  our  time  as  well,  is  not,  what  social 
life  will  be  more  secure,  the  one  which  is  defended  with 
rifles,  cannon,  gibbets,  or  the  one  which  will  not  be  de- 
feuded  in  this  manner.  There  is  but  one  question  for 
each  man,  and  this  is  such  as  we  cannot  get  away  from : 
"  Do  you,  a  rational  and  good  being,  who  have  appeared 
to-day  and  may  disappear  to-morrow,  wish,  if  you  recog- 
nize God,  to  act  contrary  to  law  and  to  His  will,  knowing 
that  you  may  any  moment  return  to  Him,  or,  if  you  do 
not  recognize  God,  do  you  wish  to  act  contrary  to  those 
qualities  of  reason  and  of  love,  by  which  alone  you  may 
be  guided  in  hfe,  knowing  that  if  you  are  mistaken  you 
will  never  be  able  to  correct  your  mistake  ? " 

And  the  answer  to  this  question  for  those  men  for 
whom  it  has  arisen  can  only  be  :  "  No,  I  cannot,  I  will 
not." 


ON  THE  RELATION  TO  THE  STATE     649 

I  am  told,  "  This  is  the  destruction  of  govern  raent  and 
the  annihilation  of  the  existing  order."  But  if  the  fulfil- 
ment of  God's  will  destroys  the  existing  order,  is  not  that 
an  undoubted  proof  that  the  existing  order  is  contrary  to 
God's  will  and  ought  to  be  destroyed  ? 

December  15, 1894' 


THE    END. 


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